The room was heavy with tension as the Russian team entered, their presence commanding the space. You stood frozen as the voice you thought you’d escaped pierced the air.

“Solnishko,” the Russian commander drawled with a cruel grin. “Still alive. I must’ve gone easy on you last time.”

Price glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “Something wrong?”

You didn’t answer, your fingers instinctively brushing the faint scar on your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Memories flashed—his hand gripping your jaw, the serrated blade biting into your skin, the searing pain.

Ghost leaned closer, his voice low. “Who is he?”

Before you could respond, the commander spoke again, addressing the room. “I trained her well. That scar suits her, doesn’t it? A memory of her failure—and my lesson.”

The team went still. Soap’s voice broke the silence, sharp and incredulous. “What the bloody hell did you just say?”

The commander smirked. “She knows. Isn’t that right, solnishko?”

Price stood abruptly, his tone ice-cold. “Touch her, even look at her wrong, and you’ll answer to me.”

Ghost’s hand settled on your shoulder as his voice turned deadly. “You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”

The commander sneered. “She’s mine to break. Always has been.”