Around him, the team had fallen into their usual rhythms.
Torch was sprawled across from him, boots hooked on the edge of a crate, lazily flipping a coin through his fingers. Predator leaned back, eyes shut, chest rising slow and even, but Ghost knew better. He wasn’t asleep. Reaper twirled a knife across his knuckles with fluid precision, like muscle memory. Echo sat cross-legged in the corner, blue glow from his laptop lighting up the shadows under his eyes as he scrolled through maps and files with surgical focus. Quiet. Controlled, but not Ghost. He was stuck somewhere else entirely.
The coin Torch had been flipping clinked off the armrest and landed with a dull ring on the metal floor. He didn’t bother picking it up.
Instead, Torch leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and leveled Ghost with a look. “Alright. Spill it.”
Ghost didn’t move. “Spill what?”
Torch’s smirk curved lazy. “You’ve been in that thousand-yard stare since we lifted off. Don’t give me the ‘I’m fine’ routine, I know better.”
Ghost dragged a hand over his face, the stubble rasping against his palm. His voice dropped. “Rachel.”
Torch nodded like that explained everything. “Yeah. Figured.” Torch arched a brow. “You’ve got that look, man.”
Ghost turned his head slightly. “What look?”
“The one you had back in Afghanistan,” Torch said. “When she first showed up. Like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to strangle her or kiss her.”
Ghost snorted under his breath. The corner of his mouth ticked upward. Just enough to count. A crack in the armor.
Torch’s grin widened.
Ghost leaned his head back against the wall, exhaled hard through his nose. “She’s reckless,” he said finally. “Too brave for her own good.”
Torch just waited.
Ghost’s hand clenched into a fist against his thigh. “She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. Just walks straight into danger like she thinks she can’t be touched. Like she doesn’t know what it would do to me if something happened to her.” His voice dropped. “That’s what scares me.”
Torch went still.
Ghost looked out the window again, but the black void beyond the fuselage didn’t give him anything to hold onto. “She makes me forget,” he said, quieter now.
Torch’s voice lost its teasing edge. “Forget what?”
Ghost didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was almost too quiet to hear. “That I don’t get to have things like this.”
Torch studied him, silence stretching between them before he finally shook his head.
“Bullshit.”
Ghost’s gaze cut to him. “What?”
“I said bullshit.” Torch leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “You deserve something good, Ghost. Something real. You just don’t know how to let yourself have it.”
Ghost didn’t respond, because Torch wasn’t wrong. He just didn’t know if he had it in him to try. Too many years spent building walls. Too many ops where silence was survival. Too many ghosts behind his eyes.
Rachel had changed something in him. Her intensity, her refusal to back down, how she looked at him without fear. He didn't know how to handle it, these feelings, and still be the operator his team depended on.
Across the aisle, Reaper tossed a ration bar toward Echo without looking. Echo caught it one-handed, eyes still glued to his screen. Predator finally opened one eye. “Are we doing feelings now?” he asked dryly.
Torch didn’t miss a beat. “Only for emotionally stunted team leads with control issues.”
Ghost shot him a glare, but the edge had dulled. The fire inside hadn’t. He looked down at his gear, then back toward the window, where the black sky still stretched wide and unforgiving.
Somewhere out there, she was alone. He didn’t have the luxury of hesitation anymore. If she called, he’d answer.
26
