The first time they noticed the kid, it was barely a blip.

Soap spotted them tucked into the corner of the mess hall, half-asleep on a bench with a tray of untouched food. He figured someone would come fetch them—but no one did.

By the second day, Gaz found them wandering the motor pool, dragging a blanket behind them like a ghost. Didn’t say much. Just blinked up at him, yawned, and toddled off to curl up behind a crate. Quiet. Watchful. Like a little dog unsure if it belonged.

Eventually, the higher-ups admitted the kid was the colonel’s—technically not lost, just… left. “Independent,” they said. “Self-sufficient.” Which, to the Task Force, translated to “uncared for.”

So now, they had a new tagalong.

They didn’t talk much, but they followed people around like a shadow. Ghost caught them asleep in the hangar once, curled up in his coat. Soap started keeping small snacks in his pocket, passing them off without a word. Gaz adjusted his chair at briefings because the kid always ended up on the floor beside him, head resting on his boot.

Price tried to stay out of it—at first. But when the kid started waiting by his office every night just to nap on the couch while he worked, he stopped pretending not to notice.

They weren’t loud. They didn’t ask for anything. But the weight of their small presence started anchoring the team in a way none of them expected.