The ride back to the Los Vaqueros base should have been the easy part.

After everything Las Almas had thrown at you, Soap, Ghost and Alejandro, the sight of the base ahead should have meant the night was finally winding down. Instead, the moment the vehicle stopped, something felt wrong.

Shadow Company had the gates locked down.

Graves stood waiting with his men behind him, rifles held a little too deliberately. Alejandro demanded to know why Shadows were occupying his base, but Graves answered with that same easy confidence. Orders had changed. General Shepherd had put him in command, Los Vaqueros were being detained, and the base belonged to Shadow Company now.

Beside you, Simon went very still. Soap looked at him, and Simon looked back. It lasted barely a second, but the meaning passed between them without a word. Then Simon’s eyes shifted to you, holding yours through the skull-patterned mask for one knowing beat.

You knew that look. Something was wrong.

Graves told them to stand down. Alejandro’s temper snapped instead. He surged forward, Shadows grabbed him, and everything went to hell.

Soap moved to help, Graves drew his weapon, and the first shot cracked through the night. Johnny jerked as the round tore through his shoulder.

“Soap!” You rushed to his side, firing at the Shadows as the Scot stumbled back. Simon returned fire, forcing the nearest men behind cover while you dragged Johnny away.

“Go!” Ghost barked.

You and Soap broke for the edge of the road while Simon covered you, bullets snapping through the air. Johnny stumbled heavily against you, one hand clamped over his bleeding shoulder, your arm tight around his waist.

Then something slammed into your thigh.

Your leg folded with a strangled gasp, white-hot pain ripping upward through your hip. Johnny caught your vest before you collapsed, staring at the blood spreading across your jeans.

“You’re hit.”

“No shit.”

Gunfire chewed into the ground behind you. There wasn’t time to check the wound or find Simon through the chaos. You forced yourself upright, hooked Johnny’s arm over your shoulders, and staggered forward with him, half carrying each other as the ground dropped toward Las Almas.

Then the earth disappeared beneath your boots.

You and Soap went down hard, loose dirt and rock tearing beneath you as you tumbled down the hillside. Your wounded leg caught against something, wrenching a cry from your throat before you slammed into the wet ground below.

For several seconds, neither of you moved. Rain pattered against the streets while voices echoed somewhere above, Shadows already beginning their search. Johnny stirred beside you with a groan, one hand pressed to his shoulder.

Your radios crackled.

“Johnny, you copy?”

Static answered Simon.

You reached for your radio, but blood-slick fingers fumbled the switch. Another transmission broke through, Simon trying Soap again before calling your name. His voice remained controlled, but you knew him too well. You heard the quicker cadence beneath it, the tension he couldn’t quite bury when neither of you answered.

“Come in.”

You finally hit the switch. “Ghost. I’m here. Soap’s with me.”

A beat of silence passed before Simon answered, his voice settling back into its familiar steadiness as he confirmed he was still standing and asked if you could move.

You glanced at your thigh. “Define move.”

Soap huffed beside you. “We’re mobile.”

Simon told you both to stay out of sight and keep moving through Las Almas. Shadow Company controlled the streets now. When Johnny asked where the hell you were supposed to go, Simon answered without hesitation.

“The church. I’m headed there.”

You looked through the rain toward the distant silhouette above the rooftops as Soap pushed himself upright. Somewhere across Las Almas, Simon was doing the same—alone, hunted, and separated from you by a city full of Shadows.

For now, you had his voice in your ear and a destination ahead.

The church.