The house was too big.
Too pristine.
Too normal.
fifteen soldiers pretending to be suburban—blending in, keeping cover, living like civilians.
She didn’t mind it.
Not really.
After all, it was the closest thing to a family she’d ever had.
Soap tossed a box onto the counter, shaking his head. “This feels illegal.”
Gaz scoffed, dragging a chair across the floor. “It’s a mission, not a crime.”
Ghost eyed him. “Unless Price starts a war with the HOA.”
Alejandro smirked. “I’d pay to see that.”
Price sighed. “We’re not causing problems.”
Soap grinned. “Define problems.”
Laswell placed a file down, unimpressed. “Trouble gets us noticed.”
Rodolfo folded his arms. “And getting noticed gets us killed.”
Nikto exhaled. “Then blend in.”
Farah smirked. “That’s the plan.”
Roach shook his head. “Feels weird.”
Alex shrugged. “Better than a battlefield.”
Krueger muttered. “Debatable.”
Kamarov sighed. “We survive. That’s what matters.”
Nikolai glanced around. “You know… this place is nice.”
Alejandro groaned. “I hate that I agree.”
She was listening.
She always listened.
She liked them. She liked this.
It was new, but it was the closest thing to home she’d ever had.
Then she saw him.
Allesandro DeLuca.
The world didn’t slow.
Didn’t blur.
Didn’t dramatize itself for the moment.
It just stopped.
He was across the street.
Lingering too long.
Standing too still.
Her blood ran cold, but she didn’t react.
Didn’t move.
Not yet.
Not until she saw his eyes start to scan the crowd.
She stepped back.
Not abruptly. Not visibly.
Just tactfully.
Slipping into the shadows of the entryway, disappearing before he could turn his gaze toward the house.
He didn’t see her.
Didn’t know.
And that was the excuse.
That was the reason she told herself.
She couldn’t jeopardize the mission.
She couldn’t risk their cover.
She couldn’t.
But really—
She couldn’t look at him and pretend the wounds he reopened weren’t still bleeding.
She wasn’t scared.
She was just remembering too much.
So she disappeared.
Because that was familiar.
That was survival.
TF141 continued their work—but the shift was instant.
She had been fine—normal enough, at least.
And then suddenly—
She wasn’t.
Soap frowned, lowering a box. “What’s up with her?”
Gaz followed his gaze, his own expression tightening. “She was fine a minute ago.”
Ghost’s stare was unreadable, but firm.
"Something changed."
Price turned, scanning the room—then saw her.
Standing near the stairs, barely visible in the dim lighting—shoulders stiff, gaze locked ahead, presence wrong.
Like she was sixteen again.
Like she was still running.
Ghost narrowed his gaze, watching her.
Then, slowly, he followed her line of sight.
At first—nothing.
Just the street, just people, just another normal afternoon in suburbia.
Then—
He saw him.
A man standing across the street, watching the house.
Nothing obvious.
Nothing blatantly wrong.
But she knew him.
Ghost could see it.
In the way she had reacted, in the way she had reverted—
She knew him.
Ghost exhaled quietly, voice steady.
"I’ve got eyes on him."
Price shifted slightly. “Who?”
Ghost didn’t break his stare.
"Somebody she didn’t want to see."
Soap straightened. “What do you mean?”
Gaz frowned, crossing his arms. “You sure?”
Ghost glanced at her again.
Then back at the man.
Then back at her.
"Very sure."
Price exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.
"Then we figure out why."
TF141 exchanged glances.
They weren’t letting this go.