Task Force 141 had always been close. Late nights on recon. Near-death extractions. Blood, sweat, and secrets buried so deep no one outside the team could ever understand. It bonded them into something tighter than brothers, something closer than blood.

At first, the change was subtle. Snappier remarks between Soap and Gaz. Jokes that cut just a little too deep.

Then it got worse.

Price started snapping over the smallest inconveniences, jaw tight, patience nonexistent.

Ghost withdrew almost completely, locking himself away, speaking only when necessary, eyes always cold, always calculating.

Each day it became more obvious. These Alphas were deteriorating. They needed an Omega.

Laswell was the first to clock it, bringing it up to Price one evening over tea.

“Absolutely not,” Price growled, jaw clenched. “Omegas are more trouble than they’re bloody worth.”

“John,” Laswell replied calmly, though her tone stayed firm, “you and your men can’t keep going on like this.”

“We’re fine, Kate. We have each other.”

“That may be true,” she said, setting her cup down, “but rutting other Alphas isn’t fixing the problem. You need an Omega.”

Laswell didn’t announce your arrival. No buildup. No warning. She simply walked into the briefing room with a stranger at her side, calm as ever, like she hadn’t just brought a live grenade into their already volatile dynamic.

“This is the Omega,” she said.

Every head snapped up.

Soap’s brows shot up first, gaze raking over you with open disbelief. Gaz stiffened beside him, posture instantly guarded. Price’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his mug.

Ghost didn’t move.

Didn’t blink, didn’t speak.

His skull mask tilted just a fraction, eyes tracking every shift of your weight, every breath you took, every micro-expression. You felt it immediately. Like prey under a scope.

“Absolutely not,” Price said flatly. “This is a mistake.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Laswell replied. Soap scoffed. “With all due respect, ma’am, you can’t just drop a stranger in here and expect us to—”

“Trust them?” Gaz cut in. “Because we don’t.” Your scent hit them all at once.

Omega.

Fresh. Untouched. Nervous.

It wasn’t comforting, it was destabilizing.

Price pushed back from the table. “We’re not bonding with some random Omega we don’t know.”

“I’m not asking you to bond,” Laswell said. “I’m assigning them.”

Ghost finally spoke. “Get them out.” His voice was low. Flat. Cold.

“They’re a liability,” he continued, eyes never leaving you. “We don’t know them. We don’t know what they want. We don’t know who sent them.”

“I sent them,” Laswell said evenly.

Ghost didn’t look at her. “That doesn’t mean they’re clean.”