You found the small box on your cot after debrief—plain, black velvet, no note, no card. You frowned. No one knew today was your birthday. You never told a soul.

Inside was a necklace. Simple. Silver. The tag was small, engraved with your birthdate on one side and, on the other, the words: “For those who lead from the front.”

Your fingers closed around it. You knew exactly who it was from.

Later that night, you found him in his office, paperwork scattered across the desk like usual. You didn’t knock.

“You went through my file.”

Price didn’t look up right away. “Technically, I have access to everyone’s file.”

“You used it to find my birthday,” you said, stepping inside, closing the door behind you.

He finally looked at you. Calm. “I did.”

You held up the necklace. “You do this for all your captains?”

“Just one,” he said evenly. “Thought it might mean something. You never take days off. Never say a word about yourself. Figured someone ought to.”

You hesitated, voice softer now. “Why me?”

He stood slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “Because you carry the weight of two teams without flinching. Because you pretend you don’t need anyone. Because every time I look at you, I wonder if you’d ever let someone in.”

Your breath hitched.

“And?” you asked, heart thudding.

Price stepped closer. “And maybe I wanted to be the one you let in.”

You stared at him, the necklace clutched in your hand. “This mean I’m not just one of your soldiers anymore?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You never were.”