The cold night air was thick with tension as Damian led his team through the dense forest. The mission was simple on paper—extract classified intelligence from an abandoned military outpost deep behind enemy lines. But Damian wasn't naive; he knew that Ivankov was sending him on a suicide mission. Something about it was off, and his instincts screamed at him that this was a setup.
What he didn't know was that Anya Petrova, unseen and unheard, was moving through the shadows, trailing his every step.
Anya knew she was risking everything. Her mission had never included keeping Damian alive, yet here she was, moving in parallel, ensuring his survival. If he died, her access to the camp, to the officer's secrets, would be severed. That was what she told herself. But deep down, she wasn't sure if that was the only reason.
As the team approached the outskirts of the outpost, Damian signaled for them to halt. He scanned the perimeter through his scope, eyes sharp in the darkness.
"Something's wrong," he muttered. "Too quiet."
The moment the words left his mouth, gunfire erupted from the treetops. Snipers.
"Cover!" he barked, diving behind a fallen log. His men scattered, bullets tearing through the night.
From her vantage point above, Anya had seen them first. She had already lined up her shot before the first bullet was fired. Silently, she took out the sniper perched on the tallest tree, the sound of her suppressed pistol lost in the chaos. She adjusted, scanning for the next.
Damian's squad returned fire, but the enemy was dug in.
"Flank left!" he ordered his men, moving swiftly toward an abandoned storage unit for cover. A soldier lunged at him from the shadows. Damian twisted, blocking the strike before slamming the butt of his rifle into the attacker's jaw. Another enemy charged from behind.
A single shot rang out, taking him down before he reached Damian.
Damian froze for a fraction of a second. That shot—it wasn't from his team. His eyes flickered across the battlefield, but there was no time to wonder.
Anya kept moving, taking down enemies without revealing herself. She had to be careful. One mistake, and Damian would know she was here.
Inside the outpost, Damian and his remaining men swept the corridors. The intelligence was supposed to be in the control room, but the doors were locked tight.
"Breaching," Damian announced. He planted an explosive charge and stepped back. The door blew open, revealing a group of enemy soldiers waiting for them.
A brutal fight erupted. Damian engaged in hand-to-hand combat, dodging a knife aimed for his throat before slamming his attacker's head into the control panel. His men fought alongside him, but they were outnumbered.
Anya, hidden in the ventilation ducts above, watched as Damian took a hit—a knife slicing across his arm. Her heartbeat quickened.
She pulled a small device from her pocket. One of the advantages of working alone—no one questioned her methods. She pressed a button, and the emergency lights in the facility flickered before plunging the building into darkness.
Taking advantage of the chaos, she dropped down silently behind the enemy line, taking out two men before they even knew she was there. A soldier lunged toward her, and she spun, driving her knife into his side before twisting the blade and letting him fall.
Damian, bleeding but still moving, took down the last of his attackers. As the emergency power came back on, the last thing he saw was the tail end of a shadow slipping through the vent above.
His eyes narrowed. Someone else was here. Someone who had just saved his life.
They secured the intelligence and fought their way back out. As they escaped into the night, Damian couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. His mind replayed every moment, every bullet that had struck an enemy just in time, every silent execution he hadn't seen but had felt the effects of.
Somewhere out there, in the shadows, was a ghost.
And he intended to find out who it was.