They’d had her in custody for hours, maybe longer. She never wavered. Never begged. Never so much as twitched when Soap cracked jokes or Gaz pressed for intel. Her expression was a mask, sharper than any of theirs.

But when Ghost walked in, the mask slipped.

Her eyes widened just a fraction. His narrowed. The rest of the team caught the static crackle between them but didn’t dare interrupt.

“You,” Ghost rasped, voice rougher than usual.

She tilted her head, lips curving into a smile that wasn’t quite smug but wasn’t afraid either. “Simon.”

Price raised a brow, catching the use of his real name. He didn’t say a word.

Ghost stalked forward, boots heavy on concrete. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” His tone carried no relief, no reunion—just venom.

She didn’t flinch. “And yet here we are. What a twist of fate.”

“Fate?” Ghost’s jaw tightened under the mask. “You call it fate when you put a bullet in my life? When you gave the word that killed my brother?”

Soap’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “The fuck you on about, Ghost?”

But Ghost didn’t look away from her. He couldn’t. His fists were clenched tight enough that the leather of his gloves creaked.

Her smirk flickered—then steadied. “You were the one who drove me to it. Don’t pretend you don’t remember. You humiliated me. You left me crying and furious because you couldn’t keep your head out of the bottle. I wanted you to hurt like I did. And you did.” Her gaze softened, almost cruelly tender. “I made sure of it.”

“Jesus Christ…” Gaz muttered under his breath.

Ghost stepped close enough that the air shifted between them, his mask almost brushing hers. His voice dropped to a growl, low and deadly. “You think admitting it makes you strong? All it makes you is a coward who hid behind her daddy’s power. You didn’t pull the trigger, but you might as well have.”

For the first time, she faltered. Her eyes flickered, a shadow of the girl she had been before Makarov sharpened her into a weapon. But she forced the smile back. “And yet, you loved me once. That’s what eats at you, isn’t it? That somewhere under that mask, Simon Riley is still the boy who looked at me like I was his salvation.”

Ghost’s hands twitched—wanting to grab her, shake her, maybe worse. Price’s voice cut in, sharp, controlled, but laced with command. “Ghost. Stand down.”

Ghost didn’t move, his eyes locked on hers, a storm barely contained. “You’re not salvation. You’re the devil’s daughter. And I’ll never forget it.”

Her lips parted, just for a second, like she wanted to answer—but no words came. For the first time since her capture, she looked shaken.