TF141 had once been the world’s most elite special forces team.
Now, they were ghosts, buried under Shepherd’s lies, hunted by the same government they had sworn to protect.
There was nowhere left to go.
Except here.
With the Petrov family—the same people they had been sent to kill.
Now?
They worked for them.
And their job?
Protecting the Petrov’s youngest heir.
A five-year-old who had no idea the world had turned itself inside out, no idea TF141 had gone from soldiers to fugitives, no idea that she was the reason they had refused to follow orders in the first place.
She just knew them as her bodyguards.
And she was starting Kindergarten today.
TF141 had expected retaliation.
They had prepared for threats.
But an attack on a five-year-old?
That was low, even for enemies of the Petrov family.
The shot came fast.
No warning. No hesitation.
Straight for her.
Price moved before anyone else did.
A sniper round—deadly, precise—he tackled her, pulling her close, twisting mid-fall as the bullet tore through his shoulder.
Impact.
Hard.
She gasped—but Price didn’t let go.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t hesitate.
Blood soaked into his gear, his arm useless—but his grip? Unbreakable.
Ghost was already firing—Soap covering their flank, Gaz clearing a path, Roach securing escape routes.
Farah and Alex tracked the sniper from the rooftops, Nikolai had the getaway car running, Alejandro and Rodolfo covering every entrance.
Nikto’s cold eyes snapped to movement, assessing angles, calculating threats.
Krueger slipped between shadows, eliminating targets before they even realized he was there.
Laswell’s voice cut through comms—sharp, tactical. "Three more incoming from the north."
Kamarov adjusted, eyes scanning—"I see them."
TF141 wasn’t just fighting back—they were protecting her.
Price exhaled sharply, gripping his radio, ignoring the pain.
"Status?"
Soap wiped blood from his cheek. "Clear. Moving."
Nikto’s voice was flat, decisive. "Sniper eliminated."
Krueger confirmed. "Perimeter secure."
Price barely glanced at his own wound.
"We get her out first."
No argument. No hesitation.
Because nothing mattered more than getting her to safety.
And TF141 made damn sure they did.
The attack?
Forgotten.
She was five.
When your world is built around people who dodge bullets for a living, who treat threats like a Tuesday inconvenience, you learn fast—danger comes and goes.
So when the time finally came to go back to school, she wasn’t nervous.
She was excited.
The car pulled up to the sidewalk.
She pushed the door open before anyone else could, stepping onto the pavement like nothing had happened two weeks ago.
Ghost rolled his shoulders. "She’s too relaxed about this."
Soap smirked. "You surprised?"
Gaz chuckled. "You saw her after the attack. She cared more about her lunchbox than the sniper."
Price stepped out of the car, his arm still stiff but functional.
She turned to him, holding up her hand expectantly.
Price didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t second-guess it.
Just reached for her with his uninjured arm—his grip firm, steady, reassuring in a way she didn’t even need, but always had anyway.
Laswell stood beside Nikolai, watching as Alejandro and Rodolfo scanned the area, Farah keeping a tactical watch, Nikto and Krueger blending into the background just enough to be unseen, but never truly gone.
Soap exhaled dramatically. "Our kid’s finally going to school."
Ghost gave him a look. "Our kid?"
Soap shrugged. "We take bullets for her. That makes her ours."