Unseen | Ghost x Soap

Chapter 68: The Turning Point

Soap's POV:

The forest stretched on endlessly. Each step felt heavier than the last, my boots dragging through the damp earth and tangled roots. The mist had lifted as the day went on, but the sunlight filtering through the canopy above did little to warm the biting cold that clung to my skin. Every sound—the crunch of leaves beneath our boots, the distant rustle of branches—felt amplified in the oppressive silence.

Ghost walked just ahead of me, his shoulders rigid and his movements precise, like he was forcing himself to hold it together for both of us. I couldn't help but watch the way he scanned the trees, always on high alert, always ready for whatever this cursed valley might throw at us. His presence was the only thing keeping me moving, though even that felt fragile now, like it could shatter if I let my thoughts wander too far.

The hunger was manageable after the berries, but the thirst wasn't. The little water we'd had was gone hours ago, leaving my throat dry and scratchy. Each swallow felt like sandpaper, and my head throbbed with the kind of dull ache that came from dehydration. My body was starting to feel weak, the muscles in my legs screaming with every step, but I couldn't stop. We couldn't stop. Not until we found something—anything—that would keep us going.

Then I heard it.

At first, it was faint, just a distant trickle, but as we pushed further through the underbrush, it grew louder. The sound was sharp and clear, cutting through the quiet like a lifeline.

"Water," I croaked, my voice hoarse.

Ghost didn't say anything, just nodded and picked up the pace. I stumbled after him, the promise of water giving me a burst of energy I didn't know I had.

When we finally broke through the dense line of trees, the sight of the lake hit me like a punch to the chest. It was massive, stretching out before us in a wide, glimmering expanse. The surface rippled gently with the breeze, the sunlight dancing across it in golden shards. The water was so clear I could see the rocks at the bottom near the shore, their edges smoothed by time.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring, my body frozen between relief and disbelief. It felt like we'd stumbled upon something sacred, something untouched by the darkness of the valley.

"Finally," Ghost muttered, his voice low and gravelly. He dropped his pack to the ground and knelt by the water's edge, cupping a hand to splash some on his face. I followed suit, sinking to my knees and dipping my hands into the cool water. It felt like heaven against my skin, washing away the grime and sweat that clung to me.

But as much as I wanted to drink it straight away, I knew better. I'd been trained better. Ghost sat back on his heels, pulling out the lighter from his pack and motioning toward a clear patch near the shore.

"We'll make a fire," he said. "Boil it first."

I nodded, forcing myself to focus on the task instead of the gnawing thirst. Ghost was already gathering kindling, his movements quick and efficient, like he'd done this a thousand times before. I worked beside him, grabbing whatever dry wood and branches I could find until we had enough for a small fire.

The lighter caught on the first flick, the flame small but steady, and Ghost fed the kindling into it until the fire grew, casting flickering shadows across the ground. We filled one of our canteens with lake water, setting it near the edge of the flames to boil. The fire crackled softly, the sound strangely soothing against the quiet.

I sat down beside him, the heat of the fire warming my chilled skin. The light danced across his face, catching the edges of his mask and the sharp lines of his jaw. His eyes were fixed on the flames, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rested stiffly on his thighs.

"This isn't about the mission anymore, is it?" I said quietly, breaking the silence. The words felt heavy as they left my mouth, hanging in the air between us.

Ghost didn't look at me, but I saw the way his jaw clenched. He shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "Not anymore."

The weight of his admission settled over me, and for the first time, I felt the full gravity of where we were—what we were. Lost. Alone. No backup. No plan. Just the two of us, trying to survive in a place that didn't want us to.

"What do we do now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ghost finally turned to look at me, his dark eyes steady but softer than I'd ever seen them. "We survive," he said simply. "That's all we can do."

His words should have comforted me, but they didn't. The reality of it all was too overwhelming, too crushing. My hands trembled slightly as I rubbed them together, trying to ground myself against the rising tide of fear.

Ghost must have noticed, because he shifted closer, his arm brushing against mine. The warmth of his body was immediate, grounding, and I found myself leaning into it without thinking. His hand moved to my shoulder, his fingers pressing lightly, just enough to steady me.

"You're not alone, Johnny," he said quietly.

I turned to look at him, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face. There was something in his eyes that I couldn't quite place—something raw and unspoken. My chest ached with the weight of it, the closeness between us almost too much to bear.

Without thinking, I reached out, my hand brushing against his. He didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers curled around mine, firm but gentle, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles.

The fire crackled softly beside us, the only sound breaking the quiet. I felt his other hand move to the back of my neck, his touch light and deliberate. My breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, his forehead resting against mine.

For a moment, the world around us seemed to fade, the weight of the valley falling away until it was just us, sitting by the fire, our breaths mingling in the cold night air. His hand slid to my jaw, his thumb brushing against my cheek, and I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his touch wash over me.

It wasn't about survival anymore. Not really. It was about holding on—to him, to us. To the one thing in this godforsaken place that felt real.