Echoes of the East

I woke up to the steady patter of rain against the cracked window, the darkness in the room broken only by the faint green glow of the spent glowstick. For a moment, I just lay there, blinking in the dim light, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The cold, damp wall pressed against my back, and the ache in my muscles reminded me of the ground we'd covered so far.

Ghost was asleep beside me, his chest rig laid neatly on the floor within arm's reach, the familiar suppressor on his pistol gleaming faintly in the green light. His marksman rifle, also equipped with his sleek suppressor, was propped against the wall, angled perfectly so he could grab it without hesitation. A handful of magazines sat in the chest rig, ready to go, and a multi-tool was strapped securely to its side.

Even in my half-asleep state, I noticed the care with which he'd arranged his gear—a silent testament to how he always stayed prepared.

His breathing was slow and even, a quiet rhythm in the otherwise silent room. Watching him, you'd never guess the weight he carried—the calm way he seemed to hold the world's chaos at bay. I knew that if anything stirred, even the smallest sound outside, his eyes would snap open, his hand moving straight to his weapon.

I shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him, the magazines on my vest clicking faintly with the movement. I paused, letting the stillness of midnight settle over me, a natural lull in the silence.

Just as I closed my eyes again, drifting into sleep, a faint creak echoed somewhere in the distance—a sound barely there, like something stepping on an old floorboard...

...