Ghost | No. 8

I like his eyes, I like that look he gives me when he's watching me, even behind the mask. I like the way his body moves, controlled, precise. I like his aura… the one that draws me in almost magnetically. He knows it, he feels it, but he pretends not to notice, he avoids it like prey fleeing a hunter.

I can still feel his skin against mine, even though it was only during training. The warmth of his hand on my neck, the firm pressure against the ground as he demonstrated a technique to immobilize the enemy—professional, controlled, cold—but I felt something more. I knew it from the first moment I saw him.

I'm his best asset, and I know that together we'd be an unstoppable duo. I love watching him at night on the farthest training field; the darkness envelops us, and the magnetism between us intensifies. The night amplifies everything—every breath, every glance, every silence. But he keeps drifting further away; he knows I'm coming for him, he knows I won't stop.

I feel like a wolf on the prowl, patient, strategic, aware of the game being played, and there again is Lieutenant Ghost, standing on the shooting range. He's tense. I can tell by the way the muscles in his arms are more defined than usual, by how his posture is stiffer, more restrained.

Because he feels it too, and this time… I’m not sure he can keep running away.