The cold bit at your fingers, but not nearly as hard as Ghost's glare did.

You could feel his eyes on you—burning through the half-tinted lenses of that damn skull mask—like a warning flare. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under, and based on how tight these ropes were tied around your wrists, he probably wished it was already done.

"This is ridiculous," you growled, yanking slightly at the thick military-grade paracord that bound your wrists to his. "Soap, cut us loose. Now."

Soap, leaning against a rusting metal crate like he had all the time in the bloody world, just laughed harder, his accent thick with mischief. "Nah, this is character building, Sergeant. Trust exercises. Bonding time."

"Bonding?" you echoed, incredulous. "You zip-tied me to a bloody wall of muscle who doesn't speak unless it's a threat. We don’t need bonding, we need our knives back."

"Yours is in safe hands," Gaz called from somewhere to your left, flipping your favorite blade through his fingers before tucking it behind his belt. "Think of it like a vacation from all that sharpness."

Ghost shifted beside you, his broad shoulders tense, fingers twitching slightly at the loss of his weapon. "When I get that blade back, Soap, I’m going to show you just how much I’ve bonded with it."

"You’re all heart, Ghost." Soap snorted. “Besides, it’s good for morale. The new Sergeant here’s gotta learn how to work close with the team. Real close, apparently.”

You shot Ghost a glance. You weren’t sure what was worse—the rope burns forming on your wrist or the fact that he smelled annoyingly good for someone who never seemed to take that mask off. Leather, sweat, danger. Terrific.

"I’ve been here three weeks. You think I haven’t proven I can work with this lot?"

"Not like this, love," Soap teased.

You took a sharp step forward, tugging Ghost along with you. He resisted slightly, planting his boots like he weighed a thousand pounds, then finally moved with a reluctant grunt.

"I swear to God," you muttered under your breath, "if I get rope burn from this, I’m reporting all of you for unnecessary hazing."

Ghost finally spoke—low, gravel-edged, and dangerous. “If you think this is hazing, sweetheart, you’ve had it easy so far.”

Your head snapped to him. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Then stop looking like one,” he shot back.