He didn’t press. Just gave her that hawk’s stare, then nodded once and said, “You’re on the 0600 transport. Don’t miss it.”
She didn’t wait around for questions. Didn’t stop to say goodbye. What she hadn’t done, what she couldn’t do, was tell Ghost.
She’d spent the entire night replaying that conversation in her head. Over and over. A hundred versions, each worse than the last. Every one ending with him caught in the fallout. Targeted. Burned.
She stepped outside just past 2300, boots crunching gravel. The air hung thick and heavy, stirred only by the low drone of generators and the dry hush of wind. Her pulse thudded behind her ribs, matching the drag of her steps.
She stopped in a patch of moonlight and looked up, searching the stars for something to anchor herself too. Nothing helped. The whole sky felt claustrophobic.
Then she felt him. Not the sound, not the heat of his body in the air. Just the sense of him.
“You gonna tell me what the hell’s going on with you?” His voice was low, sharp-edged.
Rachel’s spine went rigid. She didn’t turn. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” The word landed hard.
She finally looked at him. He stood at the edge of the barracks light, half in shadow, breathing hard like he'd run the whole way.
“You’ve had a death grip on that bag all day,” he said. “You haven’t talked to anyone. Haven’t looked at me. You flinch when someone so much as brushes past you.”
He stepped closer. “You’re jumpy. You’re lying. And if you say ‘I’m fine’ again, I swear to God, Rachel…” Her name cracked out of him, rough and raw.
She forced her gaze to hold his. “I’m just tired. My deadline moved. I’m trying to get back to San Diego early, that’s all.”
Ghost just stared. And when he spoke, it was quieter. Deadlier. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Silence stretched between them. Ghost didn't push. Not yet. But everything about his stance said he wanted to. He was reading her, waiting for the right moment, or afraid of the wrong one.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he was trying to buy time. His voice dropped when he finally spoke. “Commander Anders told me you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Rachel nodded once, stiff. “Yeah.”
Something flickered across his face, hurt, maybe, or just the echo of it, but it was gone too fast to name. He reached into the side pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Hesitation flashed in his eyes, brief but real, before he held it out to her. “Take this.”
Rachel blinked. Her hand hovered for a beat before she took it. Their fingers brushed. That single point of contact sent a tremor through her that had nothing to do with fear.
She unfolded the note and stared at the number written in strong, blocky handwriting. “Thank you Logan,” she whispered.
The name cracked something open between them. Not Ghost. Not the hardened version she was supposed to keep her distance from. Logan. The man behind the steel.
He didn't answer. Just watched her with something she couldn't quite read in his eyes. Then, slowly, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers warm and rough against her cheek. His thumb traced the hollow beside her eye with unexpected gentleness. The touch made her skin tingle, not from its boldness, but from how careful it was.
His eyes drifted to her mouth before finding hers again. For a moment he just stood there, not saying anything, hand still on her, then stepped back, putting necessary distance between them.
“I know you’re in San Diego,” he said quietly. “I’m based out of Coronado. They’re cutting our deployment short here, but I’ve still got a few days stuck in the sandbox.”
His eyes flicked to the paper in her hand. “In case you need anything.” A pause, then deeper, like he was saying more than just the words. “I want to see where this is heading.”
Rachel’s pulse surged. She inhaled sharply, the weight of his words anchoring her in place. There was too much between them to say, too many things that couldn’t be unraveled in a single night, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to try.
He cupped her jaw with barely restrained possession, thumb sweeping across her mouth until her breath caught. His kiss came without urgency but with absolute certainty, deep and consuming, like he'd already made up his mind about what she was to him.
His mouth moved against hers with restrained intensity, a kiss forged from everything they hadn't allowed themselves to say. He seemed to be memorizing her, her taste, the softness of her lips, the way her body pressed into his.
Rachel leaned in. Let herself be pulled under. Let herself want it.
His breath caught as he pulled back, but he didn’t go far. His forehead pressed gently against hers, the air between them shared in soft exhales. He stayed there, just for a second longer, before his hand slid from her jaw to her arm, trailing down in a touch that lingered even after he stepped away.
