The door shuts behind the Alpha’s with a soft but final click.

You don’t need to look up to know who it is.

You felt them the moment they crossed the threshold — two alphas, dominant scents pressing into the room, cutting clean through the haze of heat curling in your chest.

Ghost stands just inside the door, broad shoulders filling the frame, skull mask still on like he didn’t trust himself without it. His arms are crossed, posture rigid, jaw tight beneath the fabric. Beside him, Price removes his hat slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s taking his time on purpose.

The room smells wrong — too sweet, too warm, unmistakable.

“So,” Price says at last, voice calm in a way that makes your spine tighten. “you want to mouth off again?”

Ghost’s stare pins you in place. “You got a lot of nerve,” he growls quietly, “talkin’ like that while you’re like this.”

You know you’re in trouble.

The bed behind you is rumpled. The air still carries traces of Soap and Gaz — faint, lingering, enough to make Ghost’s shoulders tense even more.

Price steps closer, boots heavy against the floor. “We told them to stay in the common room,” he says. “For your own good.”

Ghost leans against the wall now, looming. “And instead, you let ’em sneak in. Worse,” his voice drops, sharp, “you told us to fuck off.”

Silence stretches. Thick. Loaded.

Price tilts his head, studying you like a problem he’s already solved. “You’re in a pack omega,” he says evenly. “Which means you don’t get reckless when you’re vulnerable.”

Ghost finally pushes off the wall, closing the distance. He stops just short of touching you — close enough that his presence alone makes your pulse jump.

“This isn’t punishment,” he murmurs, low and dangerous. “This is us remindin’ you who’s responsible for you.”