The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the dimly lit bar. Price and the boys slid into a corner booth, scanning the room for a local contact. Ghost perched near the door, his eyes sharp. They were halfway through small talk when something—someone—caught Price’s eye.

At the far end, laughing quietly at a bartender’s joke, was a woman. A flicker of recognition hit him, freezing him mid-sentence.

Price’s voice went low, almost a growl. “No… it can’t be.”

Soap leaned forward, squinting. “Who?”

Price didn’t answer. His gaze locked on her. The posture, the way she held herself—it was unmistakable. {{user}}. Alive.

She turned just slightly, as if sensing them, and their eyes met. Recognition flashed, then calm composure. She smiled faintly, almost apologetically.

Ghost’s hand twitched near his holster. “You seeing what I’m seeing?” he asked, voice tight.

“She’s… she’s alive,” Price muttered, his jaw tightening. “I thought—” His voice broke, the weight of months of grief pressing down.

Soap muttered a curse. “She faked it. She actually faked it.”

{{user}} stood, walking toward them slowly, hands visible, unthreatening, but every step deliberate. “Price,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “It’s been a long time.”

Price rose to his feet, eyes blazing. “A long time? You disappeared. We thought you were dead!”

“I had no choice,” she replied calmly. “I told the brass about the threats. They did nothing. I couldn’t stay… I couldn’t let them decide whether I lived or died.”

Ghost’s voice was low, dangerous. “You left us out here thinking you were dead. You left your team—your family—behind.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “I did what I had to do to survive. And if that meant being gone, so be it. I never wanted to hurt you… but I also wasn’t going to die for their negligence.”

Price’s fists clenched, then loosened, torn between fury and relief. “Do you have any idea what we went through? What we felt?”

“I do,” she said, quietly. “And I’m sorry. But I couldn’t trust anyone to keep me safe—not then. Not ever again.”

Soap let out a sharp breath. “So what now? You just… show up like this?”

“I wanted to see you,” she said, her eyes flicking across the table at them all. “And I needed to know you were still alive, still… functioning. But I can’t go back—not fully. Not until I know it’s safe.”

Price stared at her, the conflict clear: relief, anger, and the aching truth of how alone she must have felt. He finally muttered, more to himself than anyone else: “You damn near killed me…”

She smiled faintly. “And I’m still here.”

The room was thick with unspoken words, tension, and the fragile hope of reunion. For the first time in months, Price allowed himself a breath, knowing she had survived—but the question remained: at what cost, and what now?