You sit at the kitchen table, casually flipping through some documents when the sting of a paper cut pulls your focus.

“Damn,” you mutter, glancing at the small bead of blood forming on your fingertip.

Instantly, the room shifts. Ghost, who had been leaning against the counter, stiffens, his eyes snapping toward you. Soap’s restless pacing halts, his attention fixed on your hand. Even Gaz, who was sprawled casually on the couch, sits up straighter, tension rolling off him in waves.

You blink, confused. “It’s just a paper cut,” you say, trying to downplay it.

But they’re not listening. Soap takes a step closer, his gaze darkening, and Ghost’s jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. The air is thick, as if something’s simmering just under the surface.

Price, thankfully, stays calm. He walks over, his movements deliberate, and takes your hand. “You need to be more careful,” he says, his voice steady, though there’s something guarded behind his eyes. He fetches the first aid kit, wrapping your finger quickly, as though keeping himself busy is helping him stay in control.

“You alright, love?” he asks, the only one who seems somewhat grounded, though you don’t miss the way his eyes linger just a bit too long on the bandage.

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling unsettled as Soap, Ghost, and Gaz continue to watch you, almost like they’re waiting for something.