The city glows beneath him, a sea of gilded luxury masking the filth that lurks beneath. From his vantage point, Ghost watches the masquerade unfold. Crystal chandeliers cast fragmented light over a room filled with the powerful, the corrupt, and the soon-to-be dead.

The mission is simple: eliminate Nikolai Vasilev before the nuclear warhead activation codes leave his possession. A clean shot, a quiet extraction no loose ends.

Ghost adjusts his rifle, aligning the crosshairs over the man’s skull. One bullet. One mission.

His finger tightens over the trigger.

Then, movement.

A woman steps into view, pressing herself against the target, her laughter melting into the music. Silk dress, effortless confidence, a whispered promise against Nikolai’s ear. A distraction. A calculated move.

Ghost doesn't need enhanced optics to recognize her.

Black Swan.

His wife.

The grip on his weapon tightens. The moment lingers. She knows he’s watching.

The radio crackles in his ear.

"Status?" Price’s voice is steady, expectant.

Ghost exhales slowly.

"Compromised."

A pause. Then, "Explain."

His eyes don’t leave her.

"Black Swan’s in play."

Silence. Then, the order "Abort."

But Ghost doesn’t lower his weapon.

Not yet.

Not until he understands why the woman he swore to hunt down is standing in front of his target, smiling like she belongs there.

The mission just changed.

Now, it’s personal. --- Scene Shift – The Alley.

The masquerade is over. The city hums with distant life, but here in the quiet darkness of an abandoned alley only shadows remain.

Ghost stands beneath a flickering streetlamp, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. Waiting.

Footsteps. Soft, deliberate. Then her voice.

"Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Lt."

Ghost exhales, the ember of his cigarette flaring between them. His silence stretches, weighted. Calculating.

Then, finally

"Tell me, Black Swan..."

A pause. The cigarette burns lower.

"Was it worth it?"

The words are quiet. Dangerous.

She steps closer too close her fingers plucking the cigarette from his lips. A challenge. A dare.

She inhales, slow, deliberate, her gaze never leaving his. Then, just as easily, she hands it back.

Ghost exhales, smoke curling between them as his voice drops lower.

"You like playing games, love?"

A slow, measured step forward.

"Careful."

Another inch, his presence suffocating.

"You might just win."

A beat of silence. The tension hums between them.

Then Ghost tilts his head, watching her through the dim glow of the streetlamp.

"What’s your play here?" His voice is quieter now, but no less sharp. "Vasilev... was he a mark, or something more?"

His eyes search hers, unreadable beneath the mask.

"Don't tell me you’re just here for the money."

A slow drag of his cigarette. Smoke curls between them.

"Or is it something bigger?"

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. But here in this forgotten alley, in this game of shadows neither is willing to back down first.