The silence was wrong.
Not absence—just difference.
Soap still sat near Ghost, but the usual dry humor was missing.
Roach and Kruger still stayed close, but without the sharp observations that had once defined their conversations.
Gaz and Alex still worked together, but something in their movements felt off, less fluid, less instinctive.
Laswell still trusted Farah, but Farah wasn’t searching for reassurance like she used to.
Kamarov and Horace still operated in tandem, but neither spoke much between tasks.
Alejandro still stuck beside Rodolfo, but Rodolfo never quite looked him in the eye anymore.
Nikto and Price still stood together—but without trust, there was only strategy.
And you—you were still with Nikolai.
But he was nagging more than usual.
And for the first time, you didn’t respond the way you normally would.
Price saw it.
Felt it.
And knew it wouldn’t fix itself.
The cabin was isolated, buried deep in a valley that drowned out the world.
A month—no missions, no orders, no drills.
Just them.
And therapy.
Soap huffed, arms crossed, staring at Price. "So what, we’re prisoners again?"
Farah shot him a look. "You want to go back out there like this?"
Soap didn’t answer.
Roach barely acknowledged anyone.
Except Kruger.
Kruger studied him, arms resting on the table, unreadable. "You hesitate now."
Roach exhaled slowly. "And?"
Kruger tilted his head. "That’s new."
Roach didn’t answer.
Kruger didn’t press.
Gaz sat across from Alex, arms resting on his knees, eyes on the fire.
"You don’t talk much anymore," Gaz muttered.
Alex shrugged. "Doesn’t mean much to say."
Gaz nudged Alex’s boot with his own.
"You used to say plenty."
Alex didn’t respond.
Gaz didn’t push.
Laswell watched Farah move too carefully, like every decision had weight.
"You think too much," Laswell mused.
Farah exhaled sharply. "Thinking is what kept me alive."
Laswell met her gaze, steady. "That’s not all survival is."
Farah held her eyes—longer than she would have before.
She didn’t argue.
Kamarov and Horace worked in silence.
"Tell me something that isn’t tactical," Horace muttered one evening.
Kamarov exhaled. "There isn’t much else."
Horace nodded once.
Neither said anything else.
Alejandro leaned beside Rodolfo, watching him carefully.
"You didn’t tell me how your session went," Alejandro said casually.
Rodolfo exhaled, rubbing his hands together. "Not much to say."
Alejandro waited.
Rodolfo didn’t elaborate.
Nikto was blunt.
"You still think in terms of numbers," Price muttered.
Nikto hummed, watching the fire. "Easier that way."
Price didn’t argue.
Nikolai sighed, arms crossed, exasperated in a way that felt far too familiar.
"You are eating like a stray cat again," he muttered, eyeing the half-eaten meal in front of you.
You blinked at him.
"Pick up your fork, use a napkin—what, you think I raised you in a barn?"
"You didn’t raise me," you murmured.
He waved a hand. "Technicalities."
You huffed, shaking your head, not quite smiling.
Later, he caught you on the porch, staring out at the woods.
"You look like you are about to get into trouble," he muttered, standing beside you.
You didn’t answer.
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
"You are not getting up before sunrise again," he said. "You need sleep."
You glanced at him. "Didn’t know you were monitoring my schedule."
"I monitor everything," he said, gesturing vaguely. "Parental instinct."
You scoffed. "That’s not—"
"Do not argue, just go to bed like a normal human."
You didn’t argue.
But you didn’t go to bed, either.
The shifts were small.
But they were happening.
Price wasn’t stupid.
He knew a mission like that didn’t just fade.
But this was a start.
And sometimes, a start was enough.