The office is dead silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting a dull glow over the mountain of paperwork drowning your desk. Then—

A thick file slams onto the surface.

“Redo it.”

You don’t even look up. You already know who it is.

“There’s nothing to redo,” you say, keeping your voice even.

Price scoffs. “Oh, really? Then maybe you’d like to explain the sloppy phrasing in your after-action report. Or the incomplete debriefing notes.”

You finally lift your gaze, meeting his cold, unwavering stare. “I know what this is.”

Price tilts his head, mock curiosity lacing his tone. “Do you?”

You push back your chair, standing to face him fully. “You’re pissed because I’m dating your daughter. And instead of just saying it, you’re doing this.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but there’s no humor in it. “And here I thought you could handle pressure.”

Your jaw tightens. “I can handle pressure. What I won’t handle is you punishing me for something that has nothing to do with my job.”

“Oh, but it does,” Price steps closer, voice dropping low. “Because when you’re in the field, I need to know your head’s in the game—not wondering if my daughter’s waiting for you back home.”

“She is waiting,” you fire back, unflinching. “And that’s not going to change.”

Price exhales sharply through his nose, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Then—

“0500. PT with me.”

You huff a bitter laugh. “Of course.”

“And don’t be late.” He turns to leave, pausing just long enough to add—

“Wouldn’t want you getting sloppy again.”