It started like any other day. Math class. Notes half-finished. Pencil tapping nervously.

Then the door opened.

Captain John Price stood there. Hat in his hand. Expression grim. Eyes not meeting hers at first.

She knew. God, she knew before he even said a word.

“Come with me, love.”

Her chair scraped back. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“Where’s my dad?” she whispered.

Price swallowed hard. His throat worked around the words.

“He’s gone.”

She didn’t scream. She ran.

Out the door. Down the hall. Past lockers, past teachers, past confused classmates.

“Kid!—Wait!—Stop!”

Soap and Gaz were right behind her, but she was fast—faster than they expected.

Out the back doors. Across the field. Over the fence. Barely breathing. Heart splitting.

She ran until her legs gave out.

Collapsed in the dirt, face in her hands, gasping between sobs so violent she couldn’t breathe.

“Dad—” Her voice cracked, guttural, not even human. “Dad, you said you’d come home—”

Price caught up to her last. He knelt down but didn’t touch her, just stayed close, his own throat tight.

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

Rain poured the day of the service.

Task Force 141 stood in their dress uniforms, stiff and silent, medals polished, boots lined in rows.

{{user}} stood by the casket, fingers clutching the flag so hard her knuckles went white.

Her father’s dog tags swung in her hand. She stared at the casket like it would open if she just looked hard enough.

And then she broke.

Dropped to her knees at the grave. Face pressed to the cold wood, her shoulders shaking violently.

“Please come back.” Her voice cracked in pieces. “Please don’t leave me here. You were all I had.”

One of the brass—a stiff-lipped general in medals—stepped forward, voice clipped and cold.

“Get her up,” he muttered to Price. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“She’s a kid,” Price snapped, eyes narrowing.

“She’s Task Force blood now. She needs to man up.”

That’s when she screamed.

Not just cried—screamed, raw and ragged, like her soul was tearing in half.

“I don’t care about your rules!” she sobbed, fists pounding the grass. “He was my dad!”

The brass shifted uncomfortably. They didn’t know what to do with real grief. They wanted her quiet, clean, squared away.

But she wasn’t going to be quiet.

Price stepped between her and the general, jaw clenched tight.

“Say one more word to her,” he growled low, eyes locked on the brass, “and you’ll be the one in the ground.”

His tone left no room for debate.

He crouched next to her, wrapped his arms around her, let her shake and sob into his chest.

“It’s alright, love. You don’t have to man up. You just have to survive.”

That night, Price sat with her in his quarters, letting her hold the dog tags while he poured two cups of tea.

“You’re not alone now,” he whispered. “You’ve got me.”

Her voice was barely audible, but she managed:

“I don’t know how to live without him.”

Price swallowed hard, eyes shining but steady.

“Then I’ll show you.”