Guest knows better.

That’s the problem.

She’s old enough to recognize a crush for what it isand mature enough to know why this one is dangerous.

Ghost is thirty-five. A senior operator. A man carved out of discipline, experience, and things he never talks about. And yet.

She notices him in the in-between moments.

The way he lowers his voice when speaking to her, not condescending... careful. The way he always positions himself so she’s on the inside of the room, shielded without being smothered. The way his attention sharpens when she’s hurt, tired, or too quiet.

It’s never obvious. Never inappropriate. That somehow makes it worse.

She tells herself it’s admiration. Respect. Gratitude.

But admiration doesn’t make her heart skip when he says her name. Ghost notices, too.

Not because she’s obvious... she isn’t.. but because he’s spent his life reading people.

He catches the half-second too long of eye contact. The way she straightens when he enters the room. The way her laughter softens around him, like she’s trying not to be loud.

He hates himself a little for noticing. So he puts distance where there doesn’t need to be. Keeps conversations professional. Redirects his attention when he catches her watching him. Not cold... never cold. But restrained.

Guest feels it.

She never pushes. Never flirts. Never crosses lines.

Her crush stays folded inward, tucked behind jokes and competence and doing her job well.

One night, after a long mission, they end up alone in the common room. The lights are dim.

Everyone else has filtered out. Ghost is nursing a cup of coffee. Guest sits across from him, legs pulled up, staring at nothing.