Before he could answer, Torch jumped on the silence.
“Keep slamming water like that, Parker, and you’ll be pissing behind a Humvee in an hour. That’s the glamorous part no one puts in the brochure.”
Rachel didn’t miss a beat. “You can demonstrate. I’ll judge your form.”
Torch barked a laugh. “If you’re grading, I’ll even let you measure it.”
Rogue laughed, “I’ll show you somethingworth measuring”
Brick snorted.
Echo shook his head. “You morons flirt like you have heat-stroke.”
Torch only grinned wider. “I’m providing transparency, that’s all.”
“You’ll get smoked if you keep running your mouth,” Reaper said.
Ghost walked past and clipped Torch on the back of the head, sharp enough to make the point, not enough to hurt.
“Knock it off.”
Torch winced, still grinning. “Worth it.”
Rachel’s smile faltered the moment she glanced up and found Ghost’s eyes on her. He drew a hand to his face and lifted his sunglasses, brushing dust from the lens, but the motion felt too deliberate to be just that. For a breath his eyes were uncovered, and the look he gave her landed hard. It was intense, heated, and edged with jealousy. It flickered through before he could lock it down. The sight of it pulled something tight inside her, a sharp drop low in her stomach, because it meant he wasn’t untouched by this thing dragging between them. He felt it too, no matter how cleanly he tried to hide it. Then the sunglasses were back in place, shutting her out again.
Ghost didn’t give her a second look after the shades slipped back into place. He shifted his rifle, set his stance, and let out a short breath that barely moved the air. Whatever slipped between them, he wasn’t about to let it sit there in front of the others.
“Gear up,” he said, voice low but carrying. “We’re moving.”
Torch straightened first, muttering under his breath as he adjusted his pack straps. Rogue and Reaper fell in without comment, the heat swallowing whatever thoughts they might’ve had about the exchange. Brick kicked sand off his boots and checked his weapon, a quiet clack as the latch clicked back into place.
Rachel adjusted the strap on her camera bag, pulse still not calmed, and fell in with the group. Ghost didn’t look at her again, but she could feel the shift in him.
***
Day 15 In Country
The wind hit in pulses, each whip of wind carrying with it the sharp sting of sand. It made the sand feel more like metal filings, biting through the weave of her scarf and clinging to the inside of her mouth.
Rachel crouched beside the dented crate, pressing herself into its shadow. The metal vibrated with each gust, a dull rattle she felt through her knee more than heard. Her legs had locked up hoursago, tendons straining behind her knees. Parts of her back had gone numb, nerves giving up. The camera strap had carved a groove into her shoulder, raw and burning, but she didn't bother adjusting it.
Her goggles barely helped. The surface was so scratched the world came through in streaks, the storm turning everything into smeared shapes. Dust still worked its way inside the seal, crawling along her cheekbones and sticking to her lashes until each blink grated.
The SEALs sat like shapes hunched in the storm-light, goggles dimmed by the sand collecting on them, their shemaghs wrapped tight over their mouths.
Ghost stood a few steps off, leaning one boot into the crate, he looked like a statue. His arms were folded, shoulders broad beneath layers of dust-caked fabric. He tracked the horizon in slow, measured arcs. The storm didn’t seem to hit him the same way it hit everyone else; the wind slid off him, the sand stuck but didn’t seem to register. He held himself like the world had to reach a higher threshold to even qualify as uncomfortable.
Frost nudged Brick with his elbow, sand sliding off his sleeve. “Last embed tapped out faster than this,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t leave the wire unless she had a Humvee waiting and dinner on the schedule.”
Brick didn’t disagree. “Yeah. Couldn’t keep her in the field past an hour.” His tone stayed flat, clearly it was an unpleasant experience.
Rachel didn’t turn, keeping her focus on the storm, but the comment settled low in her stomach, a quiet acknowledgement that they weren’t slotting her in with the reporters who needed escorts and curfews anymore.
“You boys done whispering about me?” Her voice came out rough, torn open by sand and hours of silence.
Torch huffed a laugh behind his shemagh, the sound breaking into static as the wind caught it. “Just surprised we’re not dragging you out by your boots yet.”
Rachel shifted enough to brace her elbow on her thigh, repositioning the camera so its weight pressed more evenly against her ribs. The movement sent a prickle of returning blood through her fingers. “This doesn’t even crack my top five.”
