Gaz had always prided himself on keeping a level head. He didn’t let emotions get in the way, didn’t make things personal.

But this?

This was personal.

He stood in the hallway outside the interrogation room, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched. Through the one-way glass, he watched as you sat there—calm, composed, refusing to give them anything.

Refusing to give up Ghost.

Soap had tried. Price had tried. And now, command was breathing down their necks, demanding results.

Damn it, Gaz thought bitterly. Why did you have to make this so difficult?

A heavy sigh left him before he pushed through the door, stepping into the cold, sterile room. Price and Soap glanced at him but didn’t say anything as he dragged a chair across the floor and sat across from you.

Unlike them, he didn’t slam a file on the table. Didn’t try to intimidate. He just looked at you—really looked at you.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, quiet but firm.

You tilted your head, giving him a faint, knowing smile. “You already know the answer.”

Gaz exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re throwing your life away. Do you get that? You’re sitting in this chair, letting them build a case against you, and for what? Ghost’s long gone. There’s nothing you can do for him now.”

That was a lie, and you both knew it.

Your smile faded. “Would you do it for Price?”

Gaz stilled. Damn you.

You had backed him into a corner with a single sentence. Because the truth was—if the roles were reversed, if it were Price being hunted, Gaz wouldn’t hesitate.

Gaz sighed, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed a hand over his face before muttering, “You’re an idiot.”