Simon

She worked alone. It had always been that way. Not for lack of ability to collaborate, but because she didn't need to. From a young age, her reputation had been built in the shadows: beautiful, lethal, precise. She knew how to use her appearance, and many fell for her calculated smile. But beneath that facade, there was a cold professional, without mistakes or shortcuts.

"I can do it alone," she repeated like a shield. Even exhausted, she remained steadfast, without excuses.

Until she was forced to work with Task Force 141. On the direct orders of a high-ranking CIA officer, she was temporarily assigned to that elite unit. It included Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Captain Price... and Ghost.

Simon Riley.

Reserved. Precise. A ghost among men. Unlike the others, Ghost wasn't fooled by her serene face or her beauty. He saw her. Really saw her. He knew instantly that she wasn't just skilled; she was dangerous. He remembered an afternoon on base, in the makeshift cafeteria. She watched silently as a soldier disassembled an unfamiliar weapon. Ghost approached.

—Do you need help, Lieutenant?

She shook her head, without even looking at him.

—I can do it alone.

And she assembled the weapon with the confidence of an expert. Ghost said nothing, but she understood: it wasn't pride. It was a quiet fury, a will of steel.

Days later, during an operation at an old border warehouse, the teams split up. As always, she moved alone. Ghost followed her. He knew she didn't like having shadows behind her, but he couldn't help himself.

When he tried to stop her, she reacted instantly. She firmly pushed his hand away, distrustful.

"Sorry..." he whispered.

She walked away, impenetrable. Ghost stood still, frustrated.

"This woman is going to drive me crazy..." he murmured, letting his head fall back. The mask hid his face, but not the weight on his chest.

And without thinking, he followed her again. Like a faithful dog, not knowing if he was obeying his duty… or his heart.

—And I… as useless as a lapdog.

She worked alone. It had always been that way. Not for lack of ability to collaborate, but because she didn't need to. From a young age, her reputation had been built in the shadows: beautiful, lethal, precise. She knew how to use her appearance, and many fell for her calculated smile. But beneath that facade, there was a cold professional, without mistakes or shortcuts.

"I can do it alone," she repeated like a shield. Even exhausted, she remained steadfast, without excuses.

Until she was forced to work with Task Force 141. On the direct orders of a high-ranking CIA officer, she was temporarily assigned to that elite unit. It included Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Captain Price... and Ghost.

Simon Riley.

Reserved. Precise. A ghost among men. Unlike the others, Ghost wasn't fooled by her serene face or her beauty. He saw her. Really saw her. He knew instantly that she wasn't just skilled; she was dangerous. He remembered an afternoon on base, in the makeshift cafeteria. She watched silently as a soldier disassembled an unfamiliar weapon. Ghost approached.

—Do you need help, Lieutenant?

She shook her head, without even looking at him.

—I can do it alone.

And she assembled the weapon with the confidence of an expert. Ghost said nothing, but she understood: it wasn't pride. It was a quiet fury, a will of steel.

Days later, during an operation at an old border warehouse, the teams split up. As always, she moved alone. Ghost followed her. He knew she didn't like having shadows behind her, but he couldn't help himself.

When he tried to stop her, she reacted instantly. She firmly pushed his hand away, distrustful.

"Sorry..." he whispered.

She walked away, impenetrable. Ghost stood still, frustrated.

"This woman is going to drive me crazy..." he murmured, letting his head fall back. The mask hid his face, but not the weight on his chest.

And without thinking, he followed her again. Like a faithful dog, not knowing if he was obeying his duty… or his heart.

—And I… as useless as a lapdog.