4. Echoes in the dust

The map was spread across the metal table like a corpse on a slab. Oil fields. Collapsed infrastructure. The old Soviet pipeline snaked across the terrain like a scar. Laswell spoke in clipped sentences, but my focus was drifting.

I ran a fingertip down the line marked BAKU - SITE C.

"Abandoned during the fall. Picked up again ten years ago by private contractors," Laswell said. "But intel says the shell company fronts for a Russian black market cell. And now we know it's run by Dragovich's son."

I pressed my palm lightly against my sternum.

Not hard. Just enough pressure to feel the echo of something buried.

"We go in quiet," Price added. "Observe, confirm. No fire unless provoked. This is recon."

"Recon," Soap repeated from across the room, arms folded. "Aye, and I suppose next ye'll tell me we're bringin' flowers too."

Gaz chuckled, low. "It's not a date, mate."

"Speak for yourself. I'm wearin' me nice socks."

Ghost leaned against the doorframe. "They won't see 'em when you're face-down in a pipeline."

Soap grinned. "Y'think I go down easy, do ya?"

"I know you do."

I let their banter wash over me. Kept my hand on my chest a second longer before pulling it away.

Price caught my eye. Said nothing. But I saw it in the twitch of his jaw.

He was watching, too.

Outskirts, Baku - 4:30

The air was thick with heat and dust despite the early hour. The kind that crawled up your nostrils and settled in your throat like regret. We moved in teams of two. Soap and Gaz took the ridge, overwatch with suppressed DMRs. Ghost and I slipped into the understructure.

The pipeline loomed ahead, rusted and half-buried, part of it swallowed by the earth like a fossilized ribcage.

"Remind me again why we're crawlin' into Satan's asshole," Soap whispered over comms.

"Because this asshole might be hiding Russian missiles," Gaz replied.

"I liked it better when we were freezin' in the Caucasus. At least the frostbite numbed me balls."

"You're disgusting," I muttered.

Ghost's voice crackled in. "Would be shocked if he wasn't."

We reached the hatch.

"Stack up," Ghost said. I took point. He moved behind me, silent.

The hatch opened with a wheeze. The tunnel inside smelled like rust and oil. I dropped in first. Landed in a crouch, rifle sweeping. Ghost followed.

"You good?"

"Fine."

But my breathing had quickened. Just slightly. Not enough to notice unless you were looking.

And Ghost was.

I placed a hand to my chest. A half-second of pressure. Then I moved.

The tunnel narrowed, then widened into an underground chamber. Cables and lights strung like veins across the walls. Tables. Laptops. Abandoned gear. Someone had been here. Not long ago.

Ghost lifted a folder from the ground. "Coordinates. Satellite data. Shipment lists. This matches what Ember gave us."

I moved to the far wall. Maps pinned with red thread. One bore a faded watermark — old Russian intel seal. Dragovich's signature was scrawled along the margin.

Ghost held up a half-burned photo. "This mean anything to you?"

I took it.

Two girls. Young. Faces mostly scorched out.

But I knew.

Me. Ember.

My hand trembled before I snatched the photo from his grasp and set it against a nearby lighter.

Flame. Ash.

"It didn't," I said.

He didn't argue. But his eyes never left mine.

"Movement," Gaz said from the comms. "Drone overhead. Might've spotted our heat signatures."

"Fall back," Price ordered. "Get to the evac site. Now."

We moved fast. I felt it coming before it hit—that pressure in my lungs, like the air was too thick. My vision narrowed for half a heartbeat.

Hand to chest. Inhale. Exhale. Steady.

Ghost noticed. He always did.

"You alright?"

"Fine."

"No, you're not."

"Ghost," I snapped. "Move."

We hit the surface just as the evac bird arrived.

Bullets cracked behind us. Soap and Gaz laid down cover fire. I slid into the helo as Ghost pulled himself in after me.

The bird lifted, engines screaming.

I sat in the corner. Head down. Hand over heart. Just breathing.

Soap plopped beside me, laughing breathlessly. "Bloody hell. That were a proper jog. Next time, you carry me."

I gave him a tight smile. Nothing more.

Ghost sat across. Silent.

Watching.

Base — Debrief Room

Laswell scanned the data drive. Price stood behind her, arms folded.

"Coordinates match," she confirmed. "Target cities. Shipment routes. It's a full playbook. If Dragovich is setting this up, we've got maybe two weeks to stop a multi-front arms escalation."

Price exhaled slow. "Then we strike before he does."

He turned to me. "Good work. You got us in clean."

I nodded.

"Except," Ghost added, "it wasn't entirely clean."

Laswell looked between us. "What happened?"

"Nothin'," Soap said quickly. "Little drone party, that's all."

Ghost said nothing else. But I caught his glance again.

Not questioning.

Just knowing.

Mess Hall, base — 21:00

Soap slid onto the bench beside me with a grin. "You eat like a bird."

"Maybe I just don't eat mystery meat."

He poked the grey slab on his tray. "S'matter of national pride, this."

"Which nation?"

He shrugged. "Somewhere that hates people."

I smirked despite myself.

"Y'know," he said, lowering his voice a notch, "Ghost's been starin' holes through ye all day. What'd ya do, insult his music taste?"

"If he has taste, I haven't seen it."

"That makes two of ye, then."

He bumped my shoulder.

"You're alright, Vesper. Even if you terrify the hell outta me."

"Good. Keep it that way."

He laughed, and I thought for a second it might actually last.

But then I glanced toward the far end of the room.

Ghost was there.

Still watching.

Showers. Quarters. Lights out.

The base always went quiet around 0100. But I was still up. Sitting on the edge of my bunk, chest tight. Hands clenched in my lap.

The image of the photo kept creeping back.

Me. Ember.

Before.

Before I was carved up and put back together by a program that didn't care who we were, only what we could kill.

A sharp inhale. Hand pressed against my ribs. Like I could hold it in place.

But I knew better.

I reached for the med bag. Pulled out the pill bottle I rarely used. Stared at it.

Didn't open it.

Didn't need it. Not yet.

Footsteps outside. Heavy. Familiar.

Ghost.

He paused outside my door. Didn't knock. Just stood there a moment.

Then walked away.

I exhaled slow. Let the pill bottle roll off my palm and back into the bag.

Not tonight.