The command center is buzzing with quiet activity when Price’s phone rings. He almost ignores it—until he sees the caller ID. Emergency services.

The moment he answers, the world around him narrows.

“Captain Price, your daughter’s been in a serious accident. Life-flight is en route to Bristol Trauma Center.”

His grip on the phone tightens. The air feels too thick, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“What happened?” His voice is sharp, controlled—but only barely.

“Head-on collision. She lost control. Critical condition.”

He barely remembers hanging up. Barely registers Gaz and Soap watching him warily as he grabs his jacket.

“Truck. Now.”

Soap doesn’t ask questions—just tosses him the keys.

⸻

The waiting room is suffocating. Price sits with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, jaw clenched so tight it aches. The others are there, silent, knowing better than to speak.

When the doctor finally walks in, Price stands immediately.

“She’s alive, but in a coma,” the doctor says, voice careful. “Severe trauma. We won’t know more until she wakes up—if she wakes up.”

The words hit like a bullet. He forces himself to stay steady.

“Can I see her?” His voice is hoarse.

The doctor nods.

⸻

Machines beep softly. The room smells like antiseptic. She looks too small in that bed, too fragile, covered in wires and bandages.

Price exhales shakily, stepping closer. He takes her hand in his, rough fingers tracing over bruised skin.

“You hold on, love,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “You fight.”

Silence. No movement. No response.

His grip tightens.

“I can’t lose you.”