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Soap had a bad feeling about the mission before it had even started.
It’s not that he was scared, not at all. He was teamed up with Ghost after all, and knew that the lieutenant would have his back and for the entirety of the mission, and that they would drag each other home no matter what. It was more of a half-thought, a fleeting impression he couldn’t name, a subtle weight pressing on his sternum, a sense of profound unease.
Of course he didn’t tell Ghost; it was a ridiculous notion. Besides, his senior officer had other things to concern himself with – all the planning, and briefings, and logistics. The mission was his responsibility, and any intangible worries of his sergeant would be an unnecessary and unfair burden.
But he did call his parents. He told his mother that, yes, everything was fine; no, there was no specific reason for him to call other than the call being overdue; yes, they were feeding him well, and, yes, his lieutenant was fine, too.
It was probably his mother’s uncanny intuition to read his voice that made her ask if he wanted to speak to Da as well. He declined the offer and told her he’d see them all soon anyway, adding that he loved them before he hung up the phone.
If Ghost (who had just as uncanny an intuition to read Soap as his mother did) noticed anything, he thankfully didn’t comment on it; he asked if everything was all right and when Soap nodded, he gave him a pat on the shoulder, letting his hand linger on the sergeant’s neck for a brief moment.
Then they boarded the helo, and Soap was too busy focusing on the upcoming mission to listen to the nagging thoughts in the back of his head.
In theory, their task was simple: reconnoitre friendly territory, keep a low profile, and verify – or falsify – reports of an incursion of a group of hostiles.
In practice, things were a little more complicated.
They’d been flown to a NATO base in Romania a few days prior in order to support local forces and carry out recon in an area where Russian saboteurs were thought to operate. Their top priority was to remain undetected and under no circumstances provoke direct confrontation; as Kate Laswell put it, an escalation of the current conflict would be in nobody’s interest. The two of them would be dropped a few clicks from the target area so as not to alert any potential hostiles; once their work was done, they would have to get to RV for exfil on foot, which would take them roughly two days.
Soap wasn’t preoccupied with the high stakes of their mission; it was nothing Ghost and him hadn’t done before. He didn’t even care about the long hike, even when the Romanian soldiers on the base had told him that the woods they would be deployed to were positively haunted. Their stories were bollocks, of course, but they certainly didn’t help his sense of unease.
Something about this whole thing was off.
Still, Soap didn’t have much time to dwell on it, going over the mission details in his head once more instead until the pilot told them they’d reached the DZ.
They checked each other’s gear once more, then Ghost gave him an encouraging nod and hooked himself up to the rope, swiftly lowering himself to the ground. Soap followed seconds later, and once they were on the ground, they took a moment to watch their transport depart.
It was eerily still once the noise of the helo had died down. Although the clearing they were on was surrounded by forest, no birds or other animals could be heard or seen, scared away by the helicopter’s noise, no doubt. A thick mist was covering the ground, curling around their legs, and Soap wondered if that was perhaps what muffled all the sounds.
A gentle tap to the side of his head got his attention.
“Johnny, focus,” Ghost said, letting his hand linger on Soap’s neck. “All right? You’re lookin’ a little spooked there.”
“Aye, ‘m fine,” Soap nodded. For a split second, he considered telling the lieutenant about his… premonition. But Ghost was right. He needed to focus. “Let’s see how far off they dropped us,” he said instead, reaching for the map.
Together, they checked the terrain to figure out their exact whereabouts, then they took a bearing on their target area. Soap reckoned it would take them about three or four hours to get there; it was only a few kilometres, but they’d have to go through the forest, and the map indicated no roads or paths they could follow.
It was almost noon by the time they arrived at their destination, though in the murky light of the forest, it was hard to tell the time. The fog hadn’t dispersed; instead, it seemed to have grown even thicker as it clung to the ground and the trees like a shroud. Even the stillness had become heavier, the only sound being the rustling of fallen leaves underneath their boots.
Soap kept close to Ghost, maybe closer than was tactically safe, but something told him that if he lost sight of his LT now, he’d never find the man again. Keeping Ghost in his direct line of sight somewhat eased that anxious feeling he hadn’t managed to shake off, too, even if the sensation of observing eyes made Soap turn around and check their surroundings every so often.
Rationally, he knew there was nobody watching them. He knew this was just another mission, and one of their less dangerous ones. The forest wasn’t a threat, and neither was the fog or the ominous quiet.
Ghost coming to a stop brought Soap’s wandering thoughts to an abrupt halt. Looking back at him, the lieutenant signalled the presence of hostiles ahead. For a split second, Soap wondered how Ghost knew, but then he caught a faint whiff of cigarette smoke in the air.
He nodded, crouching down and quietly moving up to Ghost, who’d taken cover behind the trunk of a fallen tree.
“Shouldn’t be far now, unless that bloke went on a hike for his smoke,” the lieutenant said, his voice so low that Soap could only just make out the words.
Somehow, he doubted that anybody in their right mind would want to go for a hike in these woods, but even so, anyone crossing their path would be a problem. Soap almost wished that they’d been given permission to use lethal force because that would have made things so much less complicated. He understood, though, that taking out the hostiles could end up being the spark to send the whole continent afire. There would also be Kate Laswell’s wrath and disappointment to deal with then, so he didn’t even bother reaching for his knife.
They waited for a few more minutes, remaining in cover, before Ghost motioned for him to move forward.
Luckily for them, the rough terrain was in their favour now; the dead trees, thickets, and large rocks that had made traversing the forest so tedious proved invaluable for them to approach the target undetected.
Soap counted four men in front of a small, decrepit hut further downhill, and he was surprised at how careless they were, smoking and talking loudly as if they weren’t on an incursion. Snatches of conversation in Russian carried over to where Ghost and he were crouched between a boulder and some shrubbery, informing them that they had indeed found the group of hostiles they were looking for.
They took their time to observe and assess the situation, finding that there were six men in total, all of them armed, but with no heavy weapons. Three quads were parked next to the hut, barely concealed by a camo net haphazardly thrown over them. The Russians took turns on watch, sometimes patrolling around the hut but never straying far from it, which Soap thought was peculiar. Perhaps they had set up traps or, God forbid, mines, but that would be a future problem for them.
They established camp behind the ridge of the small hill, well concealed by rocks and thickets. Ghost set up a perimeter, while Soap settled in their previous spot, observing the activities in and around the hut through his spotter scope.
It was routine, familiar, and as always, they worked together like a well-oiled machine, understanding each other even without words. It quieted some of Soap’s unease, which refused to let up no matter how hard he tried to talk himself out of it.
As it was, his anxiety became worse when dusk crept in, bringing with it a denser fog and an unsettling damp cold.
Ghost must have long noticed that something was off with him. Still, it was only when the lieutenant placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and gave him a worried look that Soap finally told him about his sense of foreboding.
“I’m sorry, Lt,” he mumbled, “I cannae really help it. ‘s the weather, that fog isn’t natural.”
Ghost seemed to mull over his words for a moment, then he nodded. “It is, though.”
Soap knew that Ghost was merely stating a fact, not trying to ridicule his stupid anxiety. “I know,” he finally muttered in defeat. “I know it’s just bloody fog, but—” He inhaled deeply before blurting out, “I once got lost as a wee lad, and this ‘ere jus’ reminded me of it.”
It was silly, really, and sometimes he wondered why he hadn’t forgotten all about it.
He didn’t remember how old he’d been when it happened, maybe five or six; he’d often gone exploring as a lad, sometimes disappearing in the wilderness of the surrounding forests and moors for hours before finally making his way back home, exhausted, and dirty, and happy. That day had been no different – that is, until he noticed the fog, and realised that he no longer knew where he was.
He told Ghost about how he’d crawled around the moor for hours in the dying light, afraid to fall off a rock in the undistinguishable grey, until darkness had come. All he remembered was the cold, and the fear, and the tears.
“Neighbours found me the next morning, frozen and near oot’a my mind. I wasnae even that far from home,” he recalled with a huff. “Then I spent about two days in bed, babbling aboot ghosts and how folk in the fog had tried tae grab me and take me away.”
“English, Tavvie,” Ghost reminded him softly, then, with a smile crinkling the corner of his eyes, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Aye, I know that, sir,” he said quietly, absentmindedly redirecting a small spider that was attempting to make its way up his sleeve.
“I know what the Romanians said,” Ghost continued after a short moment, watching the delicate movements of Soap’s fingers. “But even if this place is haunted, those ghosts will still have to go through me before they can get you.”
Soap looked up at that, searching the lieutenant’s face to see if he was mocking him. But Ghost’s expression – what little Soap could see of it – was honest and serious. “Good thing they found you, Johnny,” he said, his voice low and rough, before he turned his attention back on the hut downhill.
If Soap had thought the Russians were displaying a strange behaviour earlier, nothing could have prepared him and Ghost for what happened when night fell.
He was roused from an uneasy slumber by a loud commotion in the distance, and he would have startled by the suddenness of it, had Ghost not been right next to him, pressed warmly against his side.
“LT? What’s going on? Did they spot us?” he asked, ducking lower when the beam of a torch flitted across the trees overhead.
“No,” Ghost whispered. “Something freaked them out, I don’t know what happened.”
He recounted how one of the Russians had left the hut and went to the outhouse, when he suddenly started yelling, running back to the door with his naked arse still hanging out of his trousers. Ghost hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary himself, but he heard how the Russian shouted something about people walking in the forest.
“Guess he saw the ghosts the Romanians wouldn’t shut up about,” he finished with a small shrug.
“Bloody hell,” Soap muttered. “You’re not even joking, are ye?”
Ghost shook his head. “I didn’t see anything, but something properly spooked those blokes down there.” He turned to look at his sergeant. “Now go back to sleep, Johnny, I’ll keep an eye out and wake you in two hours.”
Soap tried, and with Ghost so close he felt safe enough to drift off, but the dreams that plagued him quickly made him regret napping in the first place. He didn’t actually remember what he dreamt, but there was a lingering feeling of terror and loss that clung to his mind even after he woke up.
And the longer their mission dragged on, the worse it got. After two days, Soap thought he could see figures in the constant fog, too, just like the Russians had. Even though they disappeared as soon as he put on the thermal vision of his scope, Soap still could have sworn they were there. He could sense their eyes on him, and occasionally it felt like there were cold hands on him, brushing along his neck or face.
Ghost, by contrast, was completely unfazed. He saw that Soap became more and more unsettled as the days passed, and he didn’t even dismiss his feelings and visions as bollocks, but he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by the strange occurrences. Part of him reckoned that his father and Roba had perhaps beaten the fear right out of him, along with Simon. Or perhaps it was simply that ghosts weren’t afraid of each other, and what fear he might have had of them stayed behind in Vernon’s grave.
It's not that he saw anything or noticed any figures in the fog, but he took his sergeant seriously, and if Soap was, well, scared of things in the fog, he wasn’t going to ridicule him for it.
The nights were rougher for Soap than daytime, so Ghost made sure to keep the sergeant close by, always watching him when Soap was getting some sleep. He kept himself awake during the night, running on stims and the sugary drink powder he poured in his water bottle, and only allowed himself to rest during daylight hours.
Yet if Soap’s behaviour was surprising, it was downright unsettling how the Russians dealt with their eerie surroundings.
They never ventured far from their hideout, and if they had an actual mission, it had become compromised as soon as they started drinking in earnest. They were mostly merry during daytime, except for a few brawls, but at night, Soap was often woken by their random shooting into the surrounding forest, or terrified yelling.
Ghost would have found it amusing had their nightly episodes not made his sergeant jittery, too, so he was strangely relieved when, one morning, the Russians abruptly packed up their things and all but fled the place.
He and Soap both waited for a long time, expecting the group to come back, but when nothing happened the entire day, they decided to venture downhill to see if the Russians had left anything of value behind.
“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap griped as they went through the hut together. “Tha’ what we spent freezing our baws off for? There’s nothing here, LT.”
Ghost shrugged, pushing away an empty bottle with the tip of his boot.
“Disappointed you didn’t get to blow anything up?”
“Always, sir,” Soap grinned. “Now can we please get the hell out of here?”
“Nervous, Johnny?” Ghost raised a brow, going through a stack of loose papers on the floor. He looked up when Soap didn’t reply, finding the Scot staring out of the window.
“Yeah,” Soap admitted with a small nod, trying to see if through the thick mist outside. “This place is—it’s wrong, Si.”
Ghost hummed noncommittally in reply. It was a strange place, true, but—
“It’s just a forest, Johnny,” he finally said.
Soap shook his head. “This is nae normal forest,” he disagreed. “Can we please go now? Bastards left nothin’ here, this mission was a pure waste o’ time.”
As far as Soap’s assessment of their mission was concerned, Ghost could only agree. Still, botched missions usually meant casualties, and he was more than relieved that this wasn’t the case here, particularly because he had almost been sure that a direct encounter with the Russians would be unavoidable.
“Let’s just go through the rest of this place, make sure we didn’t miss anything, all right?” he finally conceded, dragging a reluctant sergeant along as they thoroughly checked all the rooms.
There were a few pieces of paper in Russian that looked like they might yield some information, so Ghost pocketed them before motioning for Soap to go ahead and lead them to the door.
“Glad to be out of here?” he asked quietly, putting a hand on Soap’s shoulder when the sergeant stood to observe the wall of fog that greeted them as they stepped outside.
Soap huffed and looked up to give him a skewed smile. “Cannae say the woods are any more inviting than this stupid hut,” he said, vaguely pointing his head at a few trees that weren’t quite concealed by the mist. “But I’m glad to be done here, aye.”
“Better get going then,” Ghost hummed, giving Soap’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go. “It’s a long walk back to the RV.”
Soap nodded, then he started following his lieutenant back up the hill to gather the things they’d left there earlier.
It didn’t take them long to pack up, and Soap was glad that Ghost was just as quick and efficient as him, because even with the Russians now gone, he could have sworn something was watching them. He didn’t tell the lieutenant, though, thankful that Ghost didn’t comment on his apparent nervousness.
They helped each other put their backpacks on – not because of the weight; they were used to that. But somewhere along the way of them working together, it had become a habit, a small gesture to signal the other that they had each other’s back. Then Ghost started walking, leading the way in those small, measured steps that told Soap there would indeed be a long hike ahead.
They walked in silence, Soap too high-strung to have any sensible conversation, distracted by watching his surroundings and making sure not to lose sight of his lieutenant in the thick fog surrounding them. The leaves under his boots were slippery, and roots and brambles kept reaching out, making him stumble, and Soap soon found himself sweating in spite of the cold.
“LT?” he called out, suddenly realising he had lost sight of Ghost’s silhouette.
There was no reply, so he called again, quietly, because as far as the job was concerned, they were still very much on potentially hostile territory.
He stood, listening out for any sounds, but it was still, the fog muffling any noise that Ghost’s steps might have made.
Soap cursed, walking again, this time faster, trying to catch up until, to his relief, he spotted the other man’s figure in the distance.
Ghost had slowed down, and he turned around to Soap, softly calling his name.
“Thank fuck,” Soap chuckled when he closed in, “thought I’d lost ye for real this time, sir.” He looked up, and the moment his eyes fell on Ghost’s outstretched hand, he froze.
It wasn’t a hand. It was a branch.
Soap felt the blood drain from his face. What he had thought to be the lieutenant was a bloody tree. And yet it had moved, hadn’t it? He’d seen it walk, signal to him, heard it call his name, hadn’t he?
“Fucker, yer nae my LT!” he growled, giving the trunk a frustrated kick, then he called out to Ghost again, a little louder this time.
Again, there was no reply, or any other indication of the other man’s whereabouts, so Soap decided to go ahead, following the compass bearing he’d taken earlier; surely he would catch up with the lieutenant soon again.
The fog was so thick now that Soap caught himself wondering if he was even awake, or if this was another of his nightmares where he lost Ghost. Every tree and rock that came into view as Soap advanced looked like a human figure at first, and each time there was a sense of relief at finally having found the lieutenant again. Then disappointment stung in Soap’s chest, a fear growing heavier with each step.
He was just about to check his compass again, when his foot caught on a root, making him stumble and fall. The impact was harder than he would have anticipated. His chin hit jagged rock as his hand slipped on the wet surface, wrist twisting so painfully underneath the weight of him that he couldn’t help but cry out in pain.
It took him a moment to fully regain his senses, then the shuffled into an upright position, ignoring the branch that dug into the meat of his thighs. He reached up to his face, cursing when the glove came away bloody. He spat out and ran his tongue over his teeth, checking for any loose ones. They seemed fine, though, and Soap gave a relieved sigh before he got back up.
This time, he didn’t care about any potential hostiles hearing him when he called out for Ghost.
To the lieutenant’s credit, it took him less than a minute to find him, even in this blasted fog.
“Johnny, stop yelling, what the fuck—” Ghost began, then he noticed the blood on Soap’s face. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I lost ye, Si, and I fuckin’ tripped and fell, and this goddamned forest isnae right, and—” He fell silent when Ghost took off a glove and began to wipe away the blood on his chin and lips.
“What?” Ghost asked, a confused frown pulling his brows together as he wiped the blood off on his jacket. “You were walking right behind me all this time.”
“That wasnae me,” Soap denied. “I couldnae see ye or hear anything. You weren’t there, Si!” He hated the whiny tone of his voice – as if it was Ghost’s fault that he’d lost him in the fog.
The lieutenant hummed; he knew he had heard something behind him, but perhaps his ears had been playing tricks on him. Soap wasn’t wrong, something was off in this forest, he could feel it, too.
“I’m here now, Johnny,” he said, giving the sergeant a smile behind the mask, before he leaned down to brush off some dead leaves that clung to Soap’s trousers and jacket. “Where are you hurt?”
“My face,” Soap replied, “and I think me wrist is a wee fucked.”
Ghost took off his other glove, dropped both of them on the ground and held out a hand. “Let me see?”
He carefully pushed the sleeve of Soap’s jacket back so he had access to his injured wrist, gingerly probing the area that was already beginning to swell.
Soap almost forgot to breathe as the lieutenant’s large hands wrapped around his wrist, warm and oh, so gentle, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of heat where they touched and brushed along the skin.
“It’s not broken,” Ghost concluded, voice low and hoarse. He cleared his throat. “But let’s—” he rummaged through one of his pouches, “stabilise it some.”
His touch was almost too soft and careful when he rubbed some cooling salve on Soap’s wrist and wrapped the joint and hand in bandages once it had dried.
“Where else are you hurt?” he finally asked, letting go of Soap’s arm.
The sergeant shrugged. He knew his hips and shoulder would bruise, but it was nothing that required any medical attention, so he assured Ghost that he was good to go.
This time, Ghost made sure that Soap was right beside him, refusing to let him fall back and vanish again. Their tempo had slowed a bit, the forest as obstinate as before, fallen trees and thickets hindering their steps as much as the sea of fog swirling around their legs.
They stopped for a lunch break by a small stream to wolf down cold MREs and share a vanilla-flavoured cake, whose dry bites they washed down with water. Soap longed for a warm meal, but he knew that would have to wait until they were back on base; they could have made a fire, but that would only delay them, and the sooner they were out of this blasted forest, the better. Besides, he didn’t want to get on the lieutenant’s nerves by bickering about a cold meal of all things.
They quickly packed up after the break, Ghost adamant about checking Soap’s wrist before he helped him put on his backpack, then they took off again. Instead of their earlier silence, as comfortable as it had been, Ghost started asking him about his family and his home in Scotland. Perhaps it was just to distract Soap, stop his constant nervous glances around to check their environment for any shadows lurking in the fog. Or maybe he was genuinely interested, if his questions and his digging deeper was anything to go by. Somehow, Soap hoped it was the latter.
Time passed more quickly like this, and when Ghost suggested they settle down for the night, Soap was almost surprised to see how late it had got. He would have preferred not to spend another night in those woods, they both did, but they were still too far from the RV, and a night hike in terrain as treacherous as this would be downright stupid.
Instead, they both set up some quick shelters, simple A-frame ones that would be just enough to keep the worst of the cold out. At least it wasn’t raining, even if the damp of the fog crawled into their tiny shelters and clung to the heap of moss and leaves they’d stuffed in there to cushion their bivy bags for the night.
“Think we’ll make it back tomorrow?” Soap asked when they sat down to eat their dinner rations. He sat close to Ghost, unconsciously trying to leech some warmth and comfort from him as he chewed on the cold food.
“Aye, don’t worry, Tavvie. Tomorrow you’ll sleep in a proper bed, promise,” Ghost said, nudging Soap’s shoulder with a grin. “Some warm dinner, too.”
“I’ll hold you to that, sir,” Soap groaned, once more wishing they were already back on base, or better yet, home again. “Don’t even remember what it feels like to not be cold,” he griped.
“They have hot showers on base,” Ghost chuckled, and against his better judgement, he wrapped an arm around Soap to rub some warmth into his back.
“Promises, promises,” Soap muttered, leaning into the touch.
They stayed like that for a while, at ease in each other’s presence, watching darkness descend around them.
“Let’s get some sleep,” Ghost eventually suggested. “Night’ll pass faster that way.”
Soap nodded silently, then he got up with a grunt, missing Ghost’s touch the moment it was gone. “Aye, sleep tight, Si, sweet dreams.”
Ghost’s fond smile wasn’t visible, but Soap could still hear it in his words when the lieutenant wished him the same in return. He’d sleep a lot better with Ghost close, Soap knew, but he bit his tongue before he could utter any such thing.
Instead, he shoved the thought aside and crawled into his shelter, his bivy bag as disgustingly clammy and cold as he’d feared it would be. The leaves underneath him were a decent bedding at least, but even the tiniest movement made them rustle, the noise startling Soap. His earlier fears came back as soon as he’d settled into the darkness. Instead of trying to sleep, he strained his eyes and ears in an attempt to see and hear what probably wasn’t even there in the first place.
Except that it was, wasn’t it?
Even in the complete dark he thought he could see figures scurrying about, silently moving closer and closer. He really needed to get a grip, he thought, finally pressing his eyes close and wrapping an arm over the side of this head to muffle any sounds.
Somehow, this made it only worse, and he could feel the hairs on his neck stand up as he imagined hands reaching out to him, cold fingers ghosting over his face and neck.
Fuck.
He wouldn’t get a wink of sleep like this.
Cursing quietly, he turned on his torch and crawled out of his shelter, calling out to Ghost as he made his way over to the lieutenant’s shelter.
“LT, you awake?” he asked in a low voice, careful not to shine the light in the other man’s face.
Ghost turned around with a tired groan. “What the hell is it now, Johnny?” he asked, voice rough and sleepy.
“Shit, I’m sorry for wakin’ ye, sir,” Soap apologised quickly, guilt settling heavy in his stomach. It had been a dumb idea to bother Ghost with this, he realised, especially when Soap didn’t even know what he wanted him to do about it. “I’ll just—" he began, turning around to go back to his own shelter, when Ghost’s hand shot out to grab him.
“Seeing things in the dark?” the lieutenant inquired, his tone half serious, half joking.
Soap nodded. “Can’t sleep.”
Ghost didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let go either, as if he was waiting for him to speak, or make a move.
“Can I—” Soap swallowed around the knot tightening his throat. “Can I sleep here?”
Ghost huffed, his dark eyes searching Soap’s. It took him a moment to reply. “Go get your bivy bag then, sergeant. And if you take up too much space, I’ll kick you out.”
“Understood,” Soap quickly agreed, then he went back to his shelter to retrieve his bivouac bag. When he returned, he found that Ghost had stuck a blue cyalume stick into the ceiling of his shelter, illuminating the place with a faint, cold glow. The lieutenant had also shoved his backpack outside and moved to the very edge of the shelter to make space for Soap.
“Figured you could do with some light,” Ghost muttered as he helped spread Soap’s bivy bag next to him.
Soap hummed in reply, the knot in his throat tight again, then he crawled and wiggled into his bivy, careful not to kick Ghost, or take up too much space.
“Better?” Ghost asked once he’d settled. Without asking, he wrapped an arm around his sergeant, pulling him closer to his chest.
“Aye,” Soap croaked, and then, timidly, “How do you do it? The forest… it never scared you, did it?”
Ghost huffed, slightly tightening his hold. “Ghosts and demons aren’t afraid of each other,” he explained nonchalantly, even when the weight of the admission pressed on his chest, nearly suffocating him.
Soap shuddered at the quiet words, and he freed an arm so he could put his hand on Ghost’s. “You’re no’ like them,” he whispered. “You’re here, you’re real and—you’re alive.”
Ghost said nothing, but Soap felt him shuffle, and then the lieutenant’s masked lips pressed a kiss to his temple before he lay back down again.
“Thanks, Si,” Soap mumbled, finally feeling himself relax. He felt safe and comfortable in Ghost’s arms, and for the first time since the beginning of their mission, he wished that the night would never end.