The briefing room is unusually quiet.

Too quiet.

The lights dim, and a projector hums to life. Price stands at the front, arms crossed, jaw tight. Soap leans against the table, Ghost is already watching you, mask unreadable but attention razor-sharp. Gaz paces once, then stops.

Price clears his throat.

“Alright. Listen up.”

The screen flickers.

A photo appears.

Your breath stops.

Dark eyes. Familiar scar along the jaw. The same cold half-smile you once trusted.

Vladimir Marakov.

Your ex.

Your past.

Your biggest mistake.

In the past, he used to call me “Котёнок (Kotyonok).” Even now, it echoes in my head, and I can almost see his teasing grin.

Soap mutters under his breath, “Bloody hell…”

Price glances at you immediately. “Lara. You know this man?”

Ghost doesn’t move—but you feel his gaze burn into you.

Gaz swears quietly. “That reaction answers the question.”