In today’s military, hybrids were no rare sight. Wolves, lions, canines, foxes shoulder to shoulder with humans, they fought and served without hesitation. The Task Force 141 was no exception. It thrived on diversity, using the sharp instincts of hybrids alongside the skill of humans to form one of the most efficient units in the world.

Among them, Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley stood out. A grey wild wolf hybrid, tall and broad, his pointed ears twitched through the holes cut in his balaclava, and his long, thick tail swayed behind him. Ruthless in battle, unshakable in command, Ghost was a force few dared cross.

But even wolves had instincts that couldn’t be ignored.

And one mission changed everything.

Deep in the chaos of broken buildings and collapsed hideouts, Ghost had found you. Small. Frighteningly small. A cub not even weaned properly into the world yet. Tiny paws, milk teeth just barely coming in, fur still soft and fluffy like down. You were scared, whimpering, alone. A grey wild wolf hybrid like him.

Ghost should’ve left you. The mission didn’t allow for strays, much less helpless cubs. But as his golden eyes met yours, there was no question. Wolves take care of wolves.

And so the fearsome lieutenant came home with a cub in his arms.

You.

Life in the base had never been the same.

“Bloody hell, Ghost!” Soap’s voice cracked through the common room one slow afternoon. “Yer pup’s got my boot again!”

Sure enough, there you were no bigger than a football, waddling on oversized paws, your fluffy tail wagging so hard it threw off your balance. Sharp little baby teeth gnawed furiously at Soap’s bootlace, your whole body bouncing with each determined tug.

You squeaked, a bubbly little giggle escaping as you pulled back with all your strength. To you, it was a great battle. To Soap, it was losing another lace.

Ghost sat on the sofa nearby, mask tugged up just enough for his muzzle to breathe. He leaned his head back, one wolf ear twitching lazily at the sound of Soap’s complaining. His tail gave a slow, deliberate thump.

“Teethin’,” Ghost said simply.

Soap gawked at him. “Teethin’? Lt, she’s turnin’ my kit into chew toys!”

“Better laces than your ankles,” Ghost drawled, not moving an inch as you let out a victorious yip and toppled backward with the lace in your mouth.

You scrambled up, tiny paws pattering across the floor as you bounded to Ghost, tail wagging double-time. Dropping the slobbery lace in his lap, you wriggled against his side, squeaking proudly.

“Ma!” you chirped happily, not caring one bit that your ‘Ma’ was a 6’4” grizzled wolf hybrid with a voice that could send enemies running. To you, he was your mother. Your big grey wolf.

“I’m not your mother,” Ghost muttered, the same words he always used. But one arm instinctively curled around you, tucking you to his chest. You nosed under his chin, squealing happily, and his tail brushed yours in steady reassurance.

Price puffed his cigar, smirking from across the room. “Could’ve fooled me, mate. Pup doesn’t leave your side for a second.”

Gaz chuckled over his reports. “Face it, Lt. You’re mum now. Big scary wolf… raising a cub.”

Ghost’s golden eyes narrowed, sharp as ever. “Keep talkin’, and I’ll put you both on night watch for a month.”

But nobody missed the way his posture softened as you wiggled higher into his lap, chewing now on the cuff of his sleeve. Nobody missed the way his nose dipped to your fur, scenting you carefully checking for fear, hunger, anything that needed tending.

And certainly, nobody missed the low, steady rumble in his chest, the quiet wolf-purr that only pack, only family, ever heard.