The room was chaos.

Chairs overturned. A shattered glass on the floor. The scent of fear and rage hung thick in the air.

Simon Ghost Riley stood at the center, fists clenched so tight his gloves creaked. His chest heaved as his eyes darted from the phone in his hand to the bloodied wall he’d just punched.

You were gone.

Kidnapped hours ago under his watch. His failure. And the longer you were missing, the more unhinged he became. No sleep. No food. No patience. Anyone in his way was shoved aside, barked at, or worse.

“Lieutenant,” Soap tried gently. “You need to—”

A sharp ding cut him off.

Simon’s phone vibrated.

Unknown number. One message. A single link.

Simon didn’t hesitate. He clicked it.

The video loaded with a grainy image of a warehouse. You. Tied to a chair. Blood on your lip. Eyes blazing with fury. His heart stopped—until you moved.

Within seconds, you headbutted one of your captors hard enough to send him crashing to the ground. You kicked the chair backward, using the momentum to snap the legs and break the ropes. Then all hell broke loose.

Three men lunged.

You ducked, twisted, used the splintered leg of the chair like a weapon. Brutal. Precise. Like someone trained for this. Simon's lips parted in shock as one of the men went down screaming from a well-placed elbow. Another reached for a gun—but you kicked it out of his hand and slammed him into a crate.

You were unstoppable.

The final man tried to flee.

You tackled him.

The camera shook—whoever was filming clearly panicked—before it went black.

Silence.

Simon’s hand trembled. He stared at the screen. Then…a sound escaped his throat—half laugh, half breathless exhale.

“Bloody hell,” Soap whispered, peeking over his shoulder. “She took ‘em all.”