The briefing room at Task Force 141's base was quiet for once, the usual hum of activity reduced to the low murmur of a few operators settling into their seats. Captain Price stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, wearing the expression of a man who had already been dealing with paperwork before he'd even finished his morning tea.

A few heads turned toward the door just as it swung open.

Lieutenant Adrian Cross strolled in like he'd been part of the team for years. Tall, athletic, with a confident smile and hazel eyes that swept the room with open curiosity. His sleeves were already rolled up to his elbows, as if he'd decided the dress code was merely a suggestion.

Gate's gaze drifted across the faces in the room, assessing each one with the ease of a man who enjoyed being the center of attention. His eyes landed on Y/n. And stopped.

The room went very still.

Ghost, seated near the end of the table, didn't move. But the temperature around him seemed to drop several degrees. His gloved fingers curled slowly against the table.

He smirked at Y/n, completely unfazed by the edge in Ghost's voice.

Ghost's jaw clenched beneath his mask. The words were casual, easy. But the look in Gate's eyes said he knew exactly what he was doing.

Across the table, Soap leaned back in his chair with a grin that was far too entertained for the situation.