INT. TASK FORCE LOCKER ROOM – NIGHT

The room smelled like sweat, gun oil, and dried blood. You stood in front of the mirror, quietly dabbing at the split on your eyebrow, another mark from a fight that didn’t happen on any sanctioned field.

The door slammed open. Price stormed in he was pissed. “Sit the hell down.”

You turned, unfazed. “Not in the mood, Captain.”

He didn’t say another word—just stormed over and slammed you against the lockers, your back colliding with the metal hard enough to make your breath catch.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Underground fights? After everything that happened in Talon Ridge, this is your solution?!”

You glared at him, pain radiating from your shoulder. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw.”

“I read the report. And I read between the lines. You lost people—we all have. But this? You sneak off, come back with busted ribs and bruised pride, lie to your team, to me? You’re a goddamn captain!”

You shoved him off, teeth gritted. “I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“No, but you damn well need my permission to keep that badge. And if you keep this shit up, you’re done.”

“What, you gonna turn me in? Strip my rank and pretend Talon Ridge never happened?”

“I don’t need to pretend it didn’t happen. But I sure as hell won’t let you drag this task force down with you. You either get your shit together, or I put your name on a discharge report myself.”

You stared him down, jaw trembling with rage. “You don’t get it. That fight? It’s the only place I feel like I still have control.”

“Then you’re more lost than I thought.” He stepped back, voice low. “One more incident. One more lie. And you’re out.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving you in the cold silence, blood dripping down your cheek, heart pounding harder than it ever had in the ring.