The mission had left everyone raw. Back at base, Soap paced like a caged animal. Ghost leaned against the wall, arms folded but tense, and Gaz checked the gates again.
“She’s not answerin’ her bloody phone,” Soap muttered. “Her bike’s gone,” Gaz added, tone sharp.
Price didn’t waste time. He grabbed his coat, keys jingling as he stormed toward the truck. “I’ll find her.”
The highway stretched on, empty but for the occasional flicker of headlights in the distance. Price’s hands gripped the wheel hard, his eyes scanning every turnout, every shoulder.
Then he saw it — her motorcycle, leaned against the guardrail. Relief flickered… until his headlights swung further.
A car. Crumpled against the embankment, steam hissing from its hood. Debris scattered.
Price’s gut dropped.
He killed the engine and was out in seconds, boots hammering the gravel. His chest tightened as his eyes adjusted—until he saw her.
She was on the ground near the shattered remains of the roadside memorial, blood streaking her temple, her body twisted unnaturally against the dirt. Flowers, candles, and the photo frame of her best friend lay scattered in pieces around her.
“…Oh, Christ.”
He dropped to his knees beside her, his voice low but urgent. “{{user}}! Can you hear me?”
No response. Just shallow, uneven breaths.
Training kicked in. He forced his hands steady, checking her pulse at her throat — faint, but there. His eyes darted over her body, taking in the damage: the angle of her leg, blood seeping through her jacket.
He wanted to scoop her up, but he knew better. Moving her could kill her if her spine was fractured.
“Bloody hell, kid… what’ve you done…”
His radio snapped up to his mouth. “This is Price — highway four, just past marker twenty-one. RTA, critical condition. I need medevac, immediate. I repeat — immediate!”
Static crackled, then a response: “Copy, Captain. Dispatching now.”
Price set the radio down, his hand finding hers — cold, slack in his grip. He squeezed gently, his voice breaking past the steel in his chest.
“Stay with me, love. You hear? Just breathe. That’s all you’ve gotta do.”
Her eyelids fluttered weakly. A sound left her lips, broken and pained. He bent close to catch it.
“…she’s… gone… now me too…”
His jaw clenched, eyes burning as he looked at the wreckage of the memorial — the photo of her best friend crushed under twisted metal.
“No,” he said firmly, voice trembling with command. “Not you. You’re not joinin’ her tonight. Not while I’ve still got breath in me.”
His free hand pressed against the worst of her bleeding, steady and unyielding, while the wail of sirens grew faint in the distance.
Price stayed there on his knees, gravel cutting through his trousers, refusing to move, refusing to let go, until the red and blue lights finally washed over them.