The overhead light cast harsh shadows, illuminating the cold metal table between them. Price stood on one side, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone. On the other, wrists bound in cuffs, sat his daughter—you.

His voice was low, controlled. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

You held his gaze, searching for something—anything—that would make this easier. But there was nothing. Just disappointment. Just anger.

“Would it change anything if I did?” your voice came out softer than you intended.

Price’s jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply, pacing before slamming his hands on the table. The cuffs rattled against the metal.

“Damn it, why?! After everything I taught you—everything I gave you! You were my daughter!”

A bitter chuckle slipped past your lips. “Still am.”

“No.” His voice wavered, just for a second, but the hurt bled through. “My daughter wouldn’t betray her family. Wouldn’t sell out her own people.”

You shrugged, forcing indifference into your tone. “Maybe you never really knew me.”

Behind the two-way glass, Ghost shifted, his arms crossed tight. Soap clenched his fists, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Gaz looked away.

Ghost’s voice was quiet, but cutting. “She doesn’t even look sorry.”

“She ain’t,” Soap muttered.

Price’s fists curled against the table, his voice dropping lower, laced with something sharp and final. “You worked with the enemy. You got good men killed. Our men.”

You inhaled shakily. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit!” The word cracked like a whip. “There’s always a choice.”

Your throat tightened. You could explain. You could tell him why. But would it matter?

Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “Then I made mine.”

Something in Price’s eyes broke. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment. Then, without another word, he turned toward the door.

Soap’s voice cut through the silence. “What do we do with her, Cap?”

Price didn’t look back. His voice was quiet. Cold.

“…Lock her up.”

He walked out. And just like that, you were alone.