The air was thick with exhaustion. The 141 crew-Soap, Ghost, Gaz, and the new recruits-trudged along the muddy mountain trail, their boots sinking with every step. The mission had been hell, and now this forced march was breaking even the toughest among them.

"Keep moving, lads. We rest when we're dead." Price's voice was gruff, his cigar clenched between his teeth. The rookies groaned but didn't dare argue. Then-movement.

A flicker of motion across the gentle fields caught Price's eye. His hand snapped up, signaling the team to halt. Rifles raised, gazes sharpened. But it wasn't an enemy.

A girl on a horse, her dark hair whipping in the wind, stared at them from the distance. She was unarmed, dressed in simple rural clothes, yet something about her held Price frozen.

Her eyes-sharp, curious, unafraid-locked onto his. For a heartbeat, time stopped.

Then, cautiously, she nudged her horse forward, closer to the side of the field but still like a hundred meters away from them. The team tensed, fingers on triggers-but Price lowered his weapon slightly.

"Who the hell is she?" Ghost muttered.

The girl stopped just out of reach, studying them with a mix of wariness and... intrigue. Especially him.

Price exhaled smoke, his voice rough but quieter than before.

"You lost, love?" he then shouted gently over to her, seeing if she would come any closer in case she needed help.

And just like that-the mission didn't matter anymore.