The room was filled with voices, but to John Price, it all sounded like background noise. The soldiers' deep murmurs, the occasional laugh, the clinking of cups and chairs it all blended into a dull thud as his gaze kept returning to the same spot. You were standing slightly apart from the group, close to one of the briefing room walls, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. Your shoulders were slightly hunched forward, your arms close to your body, your eyes fixed more on the table in front of you than on the people around you. Anyone who observed you briefly would probably have immediately categorized you: shy, quiet, perhaps even a little insecure. The kind of person who would be overlooked rather than noticed in a room full of soldiers. And that's exactly what most of them did. They saw you, took in your calm demeanor, your soft features, your slightly rounded figure that stood out immediately among all the soldiers' toned bodies, and decided in seconds that you probably didn't have much to say.

Price knew better.

He'd seen you in a serious situation before.

It had been weeks ago, an operation that had escalated faster than anyone had anticipated. The atmosphere had been tense, voices had risen, orders had become jumbled. And in the midst of this chaos, you had suddenly appeared no longer the quiet person who barely spoke, but someone completely different. Your voice had been sharp, clear, and direct, without a hint of hesitation. You had interrupted men twice your size and told them point-blank that they were about to make a catastrophic mistake. No polite phrasing, no cautious approach. Just clear words, quick and precise, as if you didn't doubt for a second that you were right. And damn it, you had been right.

Price still remembered the exact moment when the room had suddenly fallen silent because no one had expected you, of all people, to speak up. Especially not like that. Direct, almost cheeky, without any fear of rank or authority. Some of the men had just stared at you back then, half offended, half surprised. Price, on the other hand, had simply raised an eyebrow and listened. Since then, his gaze had changed slightly when he looked at you.

Even now, he was observing you from a distance. You hardly spoke to anyone, only giving brief answers when someone asked you something, and occasionally nodding while others spoke. From the outside, it almost seemed as if you were trying to make yourself as invisible as possible. But Price had long since understood that this calmness was just a surface. A mask, perhaps, or simply your way of conserving energy until it was truly needed. He took a slow sip from his cup and let his gaze briefly sweep over the rest of the room before returning to you.

It was always interesting to see how wrong people could be.

Most people here probably thought of you as the quiet, introverted person on the sidelines. The ones you didn't really have to take seriously. The ones who probably stayed out of discussions. Price, however, knew perfectly well that this assessment only held true until the situation became serious. Because then that quiet reserve vanished, as if someone had flipped a switch. Then your head lifted, your voice became firm, and suddenly you were the one who said without hesitation what everyone else didn't dare to say. Direct, sometimes a little too direct for some officers' taste, but always honest.

Price slowly stroked his beard and watched as you finally looked up briefly, as if you had sensed someone scrutinizing you. For a moment, your eyes met across the room. There was still that quiet reserve in your eyes that made you seem so unassuming at first glance. But beneath it was something else—something sharp, watchful, that only surfaced when absolutely necessary.

And that was precisely why John Price had his eyes on you. Not because of your silence. But because of what lay behind it.