Ghost rounded the vehicle and climbed in beside her, shutting the door with a heavy thud. Dust filtered through the cracked window, coating her skin, turning every breath gritty.
Rachel sat rigid. Her hands rested on her thighs but her fingers kept moving; closing into fists, releasing, closing again. She couldn't stop.
Ghost's hand covered hers.
The touch was warm, his palm rough against her knuckles. His thumb swept across once, gentle.
The tension in Rachel's shoulders eased. She hadn't realized how wound up she was until his hand gave her somewhere to anchor. Her fingers went slack under his.
She glanced at him. His jaw was set, expression carefully neutral. Like touching her was nothing, but his hand stayed exactly where it was.
The Humvee rumbled forward, tires humming over broken ground. Outside, wind scraped sand against the steel frame.
Rachel leaned her head against the window. The glass was cool against her temple, a relief after the heat and dust and blood. Every muscle in her body ached. Exhaustion pulled at her, heavy and insistent.
But Ghost's hand stayed wrapped around hers. His fingers didn't move, didn't let go.
Rachel closed her eyes. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.
His thumb brushed across her knuckles again. Once. Slow.
She didn't pull away.
When they finally rolled back through the gates of FOB Kilo, the base was quiet. Evening had settled in, the sky fading from white to gray. The day's heat still radiated from the dirt, but the air had cooled. A breeze kicked dust along the walkways.
The Humvees came to a stop. Engines ticked as they cooled. The SEALs dismounted fast and wordless, already moving into their post-op rhythm.
Rachel climbed out last. Her boots hit the ground and her legs nearly buckled. She caught herself, drawing a sharp breath as her full weight came down on the shrapnel wound. Her ribs screamed. Her side throbbed, hot and insistent.
The team gathered near the vehicles for debrief. Rachel kept walking, slipping between the canvas barracks.
Her heart was still pounding. She could still feel Ghost's hand on hers in the Humvee, could still see the way he'd looked at her when he'd called her baby.
She reached her barracks and gripped the door handle, ready to collapse inside. Strip off the blood-crusted clothes. Download her camera's memory card before exhaustion took her under completely.
"Rachel."
His voice stopped her cold.
She turned. Ghost was moving fast, boots crunching dirt, eyes locked on hers. Before she could speak, his hand found her shoulder and guided her through the doorway into her barracks.
"Inside," he said, voice low and rough.
Rachel narrowed her eyes but didn't fight it. "What's going on?"
He held up a med kit. "Take your vest off."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Frost saw the blood." Ghost's voice stayed quiet but firm. "Why didn't you say something?"
Rachel kept her tone even. "It's not a big deal."
He didn't believe her. His face showed it.
She exhaled and reached for the clips on her vest. Her hands moved slower than she wanted, each motion pulling fresh pain from her side. The vest hit the cot with a dull thud.
Then she raised her arm. The fabric tugged across her ribs, stuck with dried blood. The tear in her shirt exposed the wound.
