Ghost had been standing there for the better part of ten minutes, arms crossed, watching the empty road beyond the gates.

Soap lingered for a beat, then clapped him on the shoulder and wandered off.

Five minutes later, a dusty olive truck rumbled through the gate.

Ghost pushed off the doorframe and walked out to meet it, boots crunching on gravel.

The truck rolled to a stop. The passenger door opened.

Out stepped you.

Young. Young enough that Ghost’s stride hitched for half a second.