Differences
She never knew stability.
She knew control—how it suffocated, how power turned into ownership, how some people saw children as extensions of their failures.
Her parents were no different. They were present, but only to remind her who she belonged to.
She ran at eight, lived on the streets for four years, learned to hide, steal, survive.
At twelve, she chased a fox for stolen food, ran too far, and paid for it.
Six killers saw her long before she saw them. She stabbed one. They kept her.
For three years, she endured their lessons, their punishments, their obsession.
Pain wasn’t punishment. It was training.
If you feel safe, you're about to lose.
Take what you need. No one gives for free.
Softness is weakness. Weakness is death.
She believed them. She had no choice.
At fifteen, she escaped. She didn’t know how to integrate, only how to survive.
At sixteen, she joined the military. Not because she wanted to, but because there was no other way out.
Now, she was deployed—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Farah, Alex, Laswell, Nikolai, Kamarov, Horace, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, and Nikto beside her, tracking their target.
No one questioned why a sixteen-year-old was on the team.
No one asked how she got here.
They just accepted it.
Price had pulled her into this op without hesitation.
Didn’t flinch when she signed on.
Didn’t ask.
Neither did anyone else.
But they still watched.
They saw the way she scanned rooms before stepping inside.
How she positioned herself near exits, how she never slept too long, never ate too slow, never spoke unless necessary.
She didn’t make herself small.
She just existed differently.
She had always known that.
She could practically hear the killer's giving their lessons.
You think you blend in just because you’re quiet?
She exhaled sharply, staring at the mission brief in her hands.
It didn’t matter.
It wasn’t like they knew everything.
She never asked questions—not the ones she wanted to, anyway.
'What was a normal childhood supposed to look like?'
'How long did they spend learning to trust before they stopped hesitating?'
She kept those thoughts buried, just like she always had.
Because there were things she had always accepted.
No one gives anything for free.
People who help always want leverage.
Softness is weakness. Weakness is death.
They saw some of it—saw the signs that something was off.
But they didn’t see all of it.
She didn’t let them.
Laswell slid a protein bar across the table.
"You forget to eat."
She glanced away.
"You eat like you think someone’s going to take it back."
She forced her expression blank.
You hesitate. That’s going to get you killed one day.
She took the protein bar without a word.
Laswell just nodded once, satisfied.
Gaz leaned against the table, watching her check her gear.
"You check things five times."
She tightened a strap on her vest.
"You expecting something to go wrong?"
"Always."
Gaz’s brows furrowed, but he nodded like he was committing the response to memory.
Like he was starting to understand her baseline.
Ghost speaks curiously, looking over a map.
"You know how to handle cold?"
"I can survive it."
She meant it.
Ghost studied her for a beat, then nodded.
She didn’t say more.
She never did.
Price had seen everything—the way she reacted too fast to movement sometimes, the way she never let her guard down.
Kindness is never free, don't be naive and take it at face value.
But she didn’t hesitate when it mattered.
And Price was starting to understand just how many times she had needed to move first.
Just how many times she had learned that moment of quiet could be a mistake.
Just how many times she had been taught survival was the only thing that mattered.
They knew she was different.
And now they were going back to the closest thing she calls home, for a two-month mission.