The heat had been relentless for hours, pressing down on all of you like a weight. The air shimmered against the dirt road ahead, and every step felt heavier than the last. Sweat soaked through shirts, gear straps dug into shoulders, and even Price was starting to look a little irritable.

“Bloody hell, this sun is trying to kill us,” Soap muttered, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Less talking, more walking,” Ghost grunted from up ahead, though even his voice sounded drained.

You trudged along in the middle of the group, boots dragging through the dust. It was hot enough that your brain felt slow, your body running on autopilot. You barely noticed the first tickle in your nose until you swiped your hand across your face and came back with red.

“Huh,” you mumbled, wiping it on your sleeve and keeping pace. No big deal. Must be the heat.

But a few minutes later, it happened again—this time faster, thicker. Soap caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Cub, you’re leakin’.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, swiping at your nose again. You were fine. It was just blood.

Except it wouldn’t stop. The metallic smell was sharp in the dry air, and you were starting to feel floaty. The ground swayed a little under your feet, and your steps faltered.

“Oi.” Ghost’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and low. “Stop.”

When you didn’t immediately react, he was suddenly there, a gloved hand gripping your shoulder. “Sit. Now.”

Price was already looking over, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Kid’s nose won’t stop bleeding,” Ghost answered, crouching down with you as your knees buckled.

Soap was already yanking his canteen free, shoving it toward you. “Drink, Heat’ll knock you out faster than a punch if you’re not careful.”

You blinked, a little dazed, blood still dripping between your fingers.