The raid had gone sideways before you even made entry. Intel was off, shooters were waiting, and by the time you pulled your people out, you were short two men injured and the target long gone.

You stripped off your vest in the debriefing room, sweat and blood streaking down your arms. Before you could even open your mouth, Price’s voice cut through like a blade.

“Bloody shambles, Captain!” he barked, slamming a folder on the table. “You took two units into that mess—twenty men—and you still let it blow up in your face. What the hell were you thinking?”

Your jaw tightened. “I was thinking we had the drop until your intel was half-assed—”

“Don’t you dare push this on me,” he snapped, stepping in close, his face dark with fury. “You were in command. Your raid. Your men bleeding out. You own it.”

You squared your shoulders, chest rising and falling, voice sharp. “My men followed my orders. I kept them alive. You want a scapegoat, Price? Fine, but it won’t be me.”

The words had barely left your mouth when his hand shot out, wrapping tight around your throat. In a blur, he slammed you back into the wall hard enough to rattle the whole room. The air punched out of your lungs as your boots scuffed against the floor, your hands instinctively grabbing at his wrist.

His eyes burned into yours, voice low and dangerous. “You think you can stand here and backtalk me after that cock-up? Eighty men under your command, and you gamble their lives like it’s nothing. That raid was on you.”

You choked out, defiance scraping through your bruised throat. “I don’t gamble with them. I lead them. Even if you don’t like my methods.”

His grip didn’t loosen. His knuckles were white, his jaw locked tight, as if he wanted to shake the rebellion right out of you. The wall at your back was unyielding, his weight pressing harder until your lungs screamed for air.

Only then—at the last second—he shoved off, releasing you so suddenly you stumbled forward, gasping. His chest rose and fell heavy, fury still radiating off him as he paced.

“This isn’t over,” he snapped, stabbing a finger in your direction. “You pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll tear command out from under you so fast your men won’t even remember your name.”

The silence after hung thick and heavy. You straightened slowly, throat burning, fire still in your eyes despite the ache in your chest.

“This isn’t over,” you rasped back, voice hoarse but steady.

The room felt like a war zone—two commanders, neither backing down, the fallout only just beginning.