𝓘𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 || 𝒢𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 ☽

Part 4. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

————————————————————
<3

We had just arrived at our destination, the private jet gleaming under the fading light. Peter, our driver, turned off the engine and glanced back at Price through the rearview mirror.

"There you go. We're here now," Peter spoke, his voice casual as he shifted his gaze to me and Ghost, before settling back on Price with a small smile.

I sighed, trying to relax despite the tension rolling off my shoulders. Okay, I'm here now. One step closer. One step closer to whatever it was we were chasing in Mexico. One step closer to whatever mission Price had in store for us.

A tall, lean man stood beside the jet's entrance, clad in a sharp black suit with a crisp white shirt and a neat red bow tie. He looked as if he were heading to a formal event—a wedding, maybe, or a high-end dinner. He exuded a certain charm, the kind that demanded attention without saying a word. I assumed he was our pilot, poised to whisk us away.

Ghost, ever the first to act, pushed the truck door open and stepped out, his heavy boots hitting the ground with purpose. His silhouette was imposing in the twilight, his broad, muscular frame contrasted sharply with the serene, almost picturesque backdrop. I couldn't help but stare. There was something about the way he moved—calculated, yet natural—that fascinated me. The mask he wore only added to the mystery. What did he look like beneath it? I doubted I'd ever find out, not with how little we knew each other, and certainly not with the way I'd been pushing his buttons lately.

Quickly, I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out into the biting cold. The jet before us was a masterpiece—clean, pristine, its white exterior reflecting the hues of the setting sun. Still, I couldn't help but imagine it in black, something that fit more with my style.

The air was colder than I'd anticipated, a sharp breeze cutting through my clothes like a knife. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, glancing over at Ghost, who stood a few paces away, taking in the scenery. He looked... different here, outside the usual battlefield or mission zone. Despite the tension always between us, he seemed almost peaceful—if not for the perpetual storm behind his eyes.

Price was already up ahead, talking animatedly with the pilot, his hands moving like he was explaining some grand scheme. I wasn't quite sure what he was saying, but I could sense the excitement in his voice. Meanwhile, a nervous energy was building inside me. Mexico wasn't just another mission; it was a leap into the unknown.

My eyes slid back to Ghost, standing apart from the rest of us. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and though his posture was straight, there was something robotic about the way he held himself. Maybe this was a chance to get him talking, to break through that cold exterior. Worth a shot.

"Hey there, Ghost," I said, stepping up beside him, trying to sound casual. Cheerful, even.

His eyes flicked toward me, unimpressed. "What do you want?" he replied, his voice clipped, as though my presence was more of an inconvenience than anything.

There it was again—the hot and cold act that always left me guessing. One minute he seemed to tolerate me, and the next, he looked like he wanted to wring my neck. I'd never been rude to him, not really, but something about me always seemed to annoy him. Well, except that one time I called him Simon. That probably didn't help.

"Looks like someone's mad," I said sarcastically, grinning as I nudged his arm with my elbow. "Need mommy to hug you, huh?"

Ghost's eyes narrowed beneath his mask, fists clenching at his sides. "Y/N, you're being very annoying right now," he growled, his voice dropping lower, warning me to back off. "Shut up."