The common room carried that rare, easy stillness of a day without missions—cards slapping against the table where Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, and Nikolai were arguing over whose deal it was, Laswell and Farah’s low voices drifting from the corner table, and Price’s steady murmur mixing with Ghost’s occasional dry remark near the couch. Roach was halfway through explaining the finer points of vent-crawling to Rudy, who looked politely unconvinced.

Then the door swung open with the kind of confidence that didn’t match the room’s lazy rhythm.

She was already crossing the floor, all bright smile and carefully arranged hair, dropping onto the couch beside him like there was a reserved space with her name on it. Ghost didn’t move. Didn’t look at her. His shoulders had gone just barely rigid under his hoodie—his favourite hoodie, the one currently missing from his quarters because you’d grabbed it half-asleep after dragging yourself back from a rough mission late last night.

It wasn’t a question. Price, for his part, took a slow sip of tea and said nothing, though his eyes crinkled slightly.

The door pushed open again, softer this time. You stepped inside, still blinking against the light, swimming in the oversized black hoodie with LIEUTENANT stamped across the back. Ghost’s hoodie. The one nobody touched. His gaze found you immediately, and whatever tension had settled into his frame eased a fraction. He gave you one short nod—hello—then turned back toward Price like nothing had happened.

The entire room seemed to pause. Gaz’s eyebrows went up. Nikolai leaned back with a slow grin. Alejandro looked between you and Ghost with open amusement. Amelia’s head snapped toward you, her smile gone, replaced by something sharp and thoroughly unimpressed.