John Price's hands trembled as he adjusted the dials on the radio, the static a painful reminder of the silence that had followed the last message. His eyes darted between the screen and the map, the red blip signaling his wife's location unmoving. Three years of marriage had taught him that she was the strongest person he knew, capable of handling anything that came her way, but this... this was different.

The mission had gone sideways faster than anyone could have anticipated. The intel had been wrong, the enemy stronger, and now she was out there, hurt, alone. The tension in the room was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual calmness that prevailed during operations. The rest of Task Force 141 were equally concerned, their eyes glued to their screens, trying to find any shred of information that could help locate her.

Price took a deep breath, his mind racing through every possible scenario. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment, not now. The team depended on him. He was the leader, the rock they all leaned on. But the thought of her, in pain, possibly in danger, made his chest tighten. He had to keep it together, had to save her.

"Got something," murmured Soap, the team's tech specialist, as he tapped away at his keyboard. The room's collective gaze snapped to his screen. A faint signal, weaker than it should have been, but it was something. "It's her emergency beacon. She's in the old industrial sector, north of the river."

Price's heart jumped. "Gear up," he barked, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his insides. "We're going in." The team didn't need to be told twice. They moved with practiced efficiency, donning their gear and checking their weapons. Each member knew their role, their movements synchronized from countless missions together. But this wasn't just any mission. This was personal.