Ghost didn’t move. His thumb hovered over the screen, frozen. The others exchanged glances. Soap leaned in, trying to catch a glimpse of the glowing display. Gaz grabbed his shoulder.

But Ghost wasn’t needing a second. He was trying to remember how to breathe. The sofa creaked as he rose. Then his shin caught the edge of the coffee table. BANG. A mug toppled. He didn’t stop. He walked toward the door—and straight into the frame. Shoulder first. A muffled grunt. Then he kept going, disappearing into the hallway.

Somewhere down the hall, a door clicked shut. Then a second. Then—silence.

Soap’s phone buzzed. Then Gaz’s. Then Price’s. A new message from you.