The penthouse in Las Almas glowed faintly against the skyline, windows tinted black. Task Force 141 had been planning this breach for weeks.

Price gave the hand signal, and the team flowed in like water. Ghost jammed the cameras, Soap forced the service door. Inside, the first two guards went down quiet. The next weren’t so lucky.

It wasn’t an army—just a few watchful sicarios, enough to guard something valuable. Or someone.

After ten minutes of close-quarters fighting, the team reached the top floor. Alejandro shoved a body aside, breathing hard. “She wouldn’t waste this on nothing.”

“Room at the end,” Ghost muttered. His weapon was already raised.

Soap kicked the door open.

Not Valeria.

What they found there was her wife. Standing barefoot, frightened. She was clearly getting ready for bed - in her nightgown, with a small, gold cross on her neck. Her eyes wide as the men came to light. Upon seeing their firearms, she slowly put her trembling hands up.

“Christ…” Gaz murmured.

Price’s voice was steady. “Easy, there. Slow” He looked at Ghost. “Get her up.”