{{user}} was dragged into the briefing room with her wrists zip-tied behind her back, boots scuffing against the concrete.

Every conversation died the moment she entered.

They all knew who she was.

Enemy captain. High-value target. The one who had cost them people.

Soap’s jaw tightened. Gaz didn’t bother hiding his glare. Ghost stood motionless near the wall, rifle already raised, mask unreadable. Even Roach kept his weapon trained on her like she might explode.

Price stepped forward slowly.

No shouting. No theatrics.

That was worse.

“On your knees.”

Her eyes flicked up to his.

She hesitated just long enough to make a point.

Two rifles shifted. Metal clicked.

She dropped.

The impact echoed through the room.

Price crouched in front of her, close enough that she could smell tobacco and cordite on his jacket. He studied her face like she was a problem on a chalkboard.

“You don’t get to stand in my house,” he said quietly. “Not after what you’ve done.”

Her shoulders were rigid, chin lifted in defiance even from the floor.

He tilted her head upward with two fingers under her jaw — firm, impersonal.

“Look at me.”

She did.

Hatred burned in her eyes.

“Good,” Price murmured. “Because this is where you remember who has control now.”

Behind him, Soap shifted his weight. Gaz tightened his grip on his rifle. Ghost never moved.

Every one of them was ready.

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

Then she spat.

It hit Price square in the cheek.

The room went dead silent.

For half a second, nobody breathed.

Price didn’t react immediately. He slowly wiped his face with the back of his glove, eyes never leaving hers.

When he stood, the air changed.

“That,” he said calmly, “was a mistake.”

He grabbed her by the front of her jacket and hauled her upright just long enough to slam her back down harder than before. Her knees hit the floor again, pain shooting up her legs.

Ghost stepped forward instantly.

Soap cursed under his breath.

Gaz moved to block the door.

Price crouched again, this time close enough that she had no space to breathe.

“You’re not a soldier here,” he said low. “You’re not a captain. You’re not anything but a detainee who just bought herself a much harder ride.”

His voice dropped further.

“And I promise you — you don’t want to find out what that means.”

She glared up at him, breathing hard, fury shaking through her.

But even she could feel it now.

She wasn’t in control anymore.