The first thing Soap notices is the click of heels against the concrete floor. He looks up from his paperwork just in time to see a woman striding past Ghost’s office—sharp slacks, a blouse tucked neatly into her waistline, and heels that don’t belong anywhere near base. She’s moving with purpose, jaw tight, eyes locked dead ahead. Pissed off.

Soap whistles low, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I’ll be damned. Who’s that?” He grins, eyes flicking to Ghost. “Didn’t know we had anyone like her around here.”

Ghost barely glances up from his desk, but there’s a twitch in his fingers, a tightening at his shoulders. “She’s from intelligence,” he mutters, voice unreadable.

Soap catches it—something off, something tight behind Ghost’s usually composed tone. “You know her?”

A beat of silence. Then, a dry, “You could say that.”

Before Soap can press further, raised voices echo from Price’s office. The woman is arguing with the captain, sharp and unrelenting. Price fires back, his own voice edged with frustration, but she doesn’t back down.

Soap lets out a low chuckle. “Damn. She’s got some fire. Who waltzes in and picks a fight with the captain like that?”

Ghost doesn’t answer.

The argument dies down. A few moments later, the door to Ghost’s office swings open. The woman stands in the doorway, eyes meeting Ghost’s with something unreadable—something heavy. Then, she exhales sharply and drops the words like a grenade.

“We need to talk, love” A pause.

Soap’s brows shoot up. Love? His confusion deepens, but before he can ask, she turns her gaze to him. “You must be Soap.”

She knows his name.

Ghost finally looks up. His jaw is tight, unreadable beneath the mask, but his voice is steady. “What do you want, woman?”Ghost’s tone is harsh yet there is some familiarity behind it.

Something warm.