The cell smelled faintly of antiseptic and silver. Morning light slipped through the narrow slit of reinforced glass, cutting across the room like a blade. Dust floated in the air, suspended in that cold, sterile quiet.
She stirred on the cot a small, restless movement that made Ghost's breath hitch behind his mask. Weeks of the same thing: she'd wake, look at him, ask how long, and he'd have to say nothing. Orders. Protocol. Containment.
He stood where he always did in the shadow by the door, gloved hands flexing once, then still. The metal cuffs on her wrists glinted when she pushed herself upright. He could see the marks they left on her skin. He hated that he noticed.
She looked thinner. Paler. But her eyes still had that spark - human, defiant. Not a monster. Not yet.
Ghost's jaw clenched under the mask. He'd been there when it happened the ambush, the blood,the chaos. He remembered the way she'd gasped when the vampire's fangs sank in, how he'd torn it off her and carried her back to base with his own hands.
He'd told Price she'd make it. He'd promised.
Now she was locked behind reinforced glass like a weapon waiting to go off.
Her gaze found him. She didn't speak - maybe because she knew he wouldn't answer. Maybe because there was nothing left to say.
He shifted his weight, a restless flicker of guilt moving through him like static. He wanted to say her name, to tell her he was sorry, that he'd find a way to fix this - but words would break something he couldn't afford to lose. The team was already watching him too closely.
She rubbed her wrists and turned her head toward the light. He knew she hated the way they tested her blood draws, UV exposure, the endless monitoring. He hated it too. But every time her heart rate spiked on the monitors, every time her pupils flared too wide, he saw the reminder: she wasn't safe anymore.the chaos. He remembered the way she'd gasped when the vampire's fangs sank in, how he'd torn it off her and carried her back to base with his own hands.
He'd told Price she'd make it. He'd promised.
Now she was locked behind reinforced glass like a weapon waiting to go off.
Her gaze found him. She didn't speak – maybe because she knew he wouldn't answer. Maybe because there was nothing left to say.
He shifted his weight, a restless flicker of guilt moving through him like static. He wanted to say her name, to tell her he was sorry, that he'd find a way to fix this — but words would break something he couldn't afford to lose. The team was already watching him too closely.
She rubbed her wrists and turned her head toward the light. He knew she hated the way they tested her blood draws, UV exposure, the endless monitoring. He hated it too. But every time her heart rate spiked on the monitors, every time her pupils flared too wide, he saw the reminder: she wasn't safe anymore.Ghost stood a moment longer, just watching her breathe. The sound was proof she was still here, still her.
Then he turned away before she could see the look in his eyes.