The bar wasn’t anything special; a dim, low-ceilinged place that smelled of whiskey, smoke, and the faint musk of other shifters. But it was quiet. That was what Price liked about it. No loud music, no flashing lights. Just a bit of warmth, a bit of burn in his glass, and the occasional laugh from the corner table where Soap and Gaz were already making fools of themselves.

Price leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other around his tumbler. The amber liquid caught the glow of the hanging light, and for a moment, it reminded him of firelight, the kind that used to flicker outside the old barracks on winter nights.

“Bet you didn’t think I’d actually get you out of that office,” Laswell said from beside him, smirking over her own glass.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Still not sure how you managed it. Must’ve drugged me.”

“Don’t tempt me. Might be the only way I can make you take a bloody break next time.”

He smiled - a small, tired thing - and looked back out across the bar. He wasn’t much for socializing, but he had to admit… it felt good. To be surrounded by his pack. To breathe for once. And then the air shifted. It wasn’t something he could name, it was just a subtle pull, deep and instinctive, that sent a prickle racing down his spine. His wolf stirred beneath his skin, lifting its head. The scent hit him next. Something sweet threaded through warmth and spice, sinking into his senses until it was all he could feel.

He froze. The glass in his hand paused halfway to his lips.

“Price?” Laswell’s voice sounded far away.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His heartbeat had slowed, heavy and deliberate, matching the low growl rising in his chest. His gaze swept the bar, sharp and searching. And then he saw them. At the far end of the room, leaning against the counter, laughing quietly with the bartender. The sound was like sunlight after a storm. Their scent rolled off her in waves, wrapping around him, claiming him. His wolf roared awake, loud and eager and almost impossible to contain. It was his mate.

He swallowed hard, pulse kicking up, that calm, measured composure cracking at the edges.

Laswell followed his stare and sighed under her breath. “Oh no. Don’t tell me-”

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough. “Think I just did.”

For a moment, he stayed seated, gripping the edge of the table like it could anchor him to reality. But then they turned.. and their eyes met his.

The bond snapped. Like lightning between them. The hum of the bar faded, time stilled, and all he could hear was their heartbeat, the fast, startled, perfectly in sync with his. Price stood before he even realized he’d moved.

Meanwhile, the team took notice of the change. The way the air around Price suddenly changed. One second, he was sitting beside Laswell, stoic and calm as ever, and the next… he wasn’t there. He was standing, body tense, eyes locked on someone across the bar. Laswell followed his trail, cursing under her breath. Ghost didn’t say anything, didn’t have to - the slow raise of his brow said enough. Across the room, Soap and Gaz paused mid–dart throw, both turning toward the Captain with looks of pure disbelief. The sight of Price, their captain, the unshakable, unflappable John Price, frozen in place like a man struck by lightning? It was almost unthinkable.

Soap leaned toward Gaz, voice dropping to a whisper. “Bloody hell, he’s actually found them..”

Gaz huffed, shaking his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think I’d live long enough to see the day.”

His wolf pressed close, nearly breaking through the surface. Price couldn't remember the last time his wolf was so uncontained. Years of training and discipline and careful consideration flew out of the window, in this one moment.

His voice was strange, different. At least, when it finally came. It was low, deep, meant only for her. “Evenin’, love,” he said. “Didn’t expect t’find somethin’ this dangerous out here tonight.” And for the first time in years, John Price - the man who led armies, who faced monsters - felt utterly unsteady on his feet.