The brass thought they had her cornered.

They sat around the conference table, polished boots tapping against marble floors, General Morrison leading the charge.

“Dr. {{user}},” he began, tone razor-sharp. “The death of General Harlan reflects poorly on this hospital. On you.”

She stayed still. Eyes locked. Unblinking.

“You’ve made decisions that cost lives. You overstepped. You ignored chain of command,” Morrison pressed, voice cool but smug. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You resign quietly. No headlines, no inquiry. We’ll reassign your staff, transfer critical care to a NATO facility.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked, tone ice-cold.

“Then we shut you down.”

Her chair scraped back, but she didn’t flinch.

She stood slowly, hands on the table, eyes hard as steel.

“I’m not resigning.”

The room stiffened.

“I’m not apologizing for saving lives, and I’m not stepping down because you’re scared of bad press.”

Morrison narrowed his eyes. “Watch your tone, Doctor.”

“No.” Her jaw tightened. “You watch yours.”

Her voice rose—not yelling, but commanding, the kind of tone her father used in briefings before combat.

“You think threatening me with my career will make me back down? You’re wrong. You want to shut down this hospital? Fine. But you better be ready to answer for every soldier that dies because you cared more about optics than medicine.”

She leaned in, eyes sharp as a scalpel.

“And here’s something else for you to chew on, sir—”

Her voice dropped to a dangerous, steady murmur.

“If you shut me down, I won’t go quietly. I’ll testify. I’ll go to the press. I’ll put every cover-up, every ignored warning, and every unethical call you made on record.”

Her eyes locked onto his. “I’m Price’s kid, remember? I don’t bluff.”

The room went dead silent.

Morrison’s jaw clenched. His fingers twitched, but he said nothing.

Because he knew she wasn’t bluffing. She had the receipts, the witnesses, and the backbone to burn their entire house down if they pushed her further.

Later that night, she stood in the hospital trauma bay, gloves off, staring out the window.

Price walked in, quiet but solid behind her.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

She smirked bitterly, not turning around.

“No. But I’m not backing down.”

Price stepped up beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Good,” he muttered. “That’s my girl.”