Price slammed the door shut behind her, the echo bouncing off the concrete walls of the base’s debrief room. His jaw was tight. His eyes were colder than she’d ever seen them.

“You disobeyed a direct fucking order,” he growled.

{{user}} stood her ground. “I saw a window to flank and I took it. We cleared the building faster—”

“You got Soap shot.”

That silenced her.

He stepped forward, voice dropping. “You don’t get to play cowboy because you think your instincts are better than the call. This isn’t a solo show. You put your team at risk.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you’d still be out there instead of standing here while your men get stitched up.”

Her chest tightened. The shame hit harder than any bullet ever had.

“I want your vest, your weapon, and your comms. You’re benched. You’ll run logistics and clean-up until I say otherwise. And you’re shadowing Ghost on protocol review until you understand what it means to lead as a soldier, not a damn vigilante.”

She blinked. “Ghost?”

“Yeah. He’s loving this, by the way. Already got the file printed. You’re his personal errand girl now. Maybe next time, you’ll listen.”

He turned to leave—then paused. “Oh—and tell Soap you’re the reason he’s stuck on bedrest. Look him in the eye when you do it.”