The mission had gone to hell fast.
Price barely had time to react before guns were pressed to his men’s heads, orders barked, a choice forced upon him.
Give himself up—or watch his team die.
So he surrendered.
And the suffering began.
They starved him, kept him dehydrated, beat him until his body screamed with pain.
Stripped away every ounce of dignity, left him bare, broken, freezing.
No warmth. No relief from the bite of cold.
Day after day, the temperature dropped—his body turning rigid, his muscles refusing to obey, his mind slowing, drowning in the creeping numbness.
He had no doubt he would have lost fingers. Toes. Maybe more.
If not for her.
She was young, barely out of puphood, but larger than any normal wolf her age—bigger, stronger, built from genetic modifications meant to bring back an extinct predator.
And she was trapped here too—held for reasons unknown, locked in the same hell he was.
She was the reason he was alive.
She caught mice, nudging their broken forms toward him, forcing him to eat.
She attacked anyone who came too close, snaring them between her teeth, snarling, tearing flesh when she needed to.
And when the nights turned merciless, when the cold crawled through his skin like death itself—she curled against him, thick fur shielding him, body heat saving him.
Price didn’t know why she was here.
Didn’t know why she had chosen to keep him alive.
But he did know one thing.
If he got out of this hell—she was coming with him.
And now, after a year of searching, TF141 had finally found him.
After months of tracking dead leads, of chasing ghosts, of refusing to believe he was gone—they had located his prison.
And they were on their way to take him back.
Fast. Unrelenting. Armed to the teeth.