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Summary
A heavy sigh slips past his lips when he’s stripped down to his underwear. It’s still there, he realises. The panic, the guilt, the crippling realisation that he’ll never escape — not merely woven into his clothes, not to be shed too easily. It all sits nestled into the core of his body. A weight on his chest. Carved into the ridges of his brain. It’s not new. Ghost knows. It’s a fundamental truth, a primal instinct. A part of his genetic make-up like the colour of his eyes or the freckles on his skin. It’s not new, it’s always been for as long as he has. Ghost knows, but the realisation chokes him all the same.
or
It's not the first time Ghost is captured and tortured. But it's the first time he can't shake it off.