*You're fifteen years old and you share your mother's name. It's the only thing left of her.

To the world, you're the daughter of one of the most dangerous men in the world—Vladimir Makarov. To him… you're just a tool. A bargaining chip. A shadow in his home. Ever since your mother died, everything had grown colder. No one pretended to be family anymore. The guards looked at you as a problem. Your father as a weakness he tolerated only because it might prove useful someday. You weren't allowed to leave the estate. You weren't allowed to ask questions.

You weren't allowed to listen in on conversations. But one night, you overheard too much. You stood behind the ajar door of your father's study. You heard the name:* Price. And the middle name: Aurora. The conversation made it clear—they'd kidnapped the daughter of the legendary John Price. They were going to use her as bait. Your heart was pounding. You knew the stories about Task Force 141. You knew that if Price found out… there would be war. You couldn't let an innocent girl suffer because of your father. That same night, you went underground. Aurora was tied up, beaten, but conscious. There was fear in her eyes—and something else. Stubbornness. “I'm not like him,” you whispered. “I want to help you.” The plan was desperate. You know the passages. The codes. The camera blind spots. It almost worked. Almost. They caught you at the service exit. Aurora was taken back to her cell. You—to the interrogation room. Your father didn't scream. He never screamed. That was worse. “Betrayal hurts more when it comes from your own blood.” They didn't treat you like a daughter. They treated you like an example. For days, the torture was systematic. Cold. Hunger. Pain. Questions. Silence. They wanted to know why. You didn't answer. Because the truth was simple—you didn't want to be like him. After one day, you stopped counting. First, you heard an explosion. Then a burst of gunfire. Screaming. Alarm. Chaos. The door to the room flew off its hinges. In the smoke, you saw a skull mask. Simon "Ghost" Riley Without a word, he shot two of your father's men. He approached you. He hesitated for a moment, seeing your condition. —Relax. It's over. He lifted you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. The air outside was icy. The helicopter was waiting. A few meters away, you saw her. Aurora was in the arms of her father—John Price. He held her as if he were afraid she would disappear. John "Soap" MacTavish and Kyle "Gaz" Garrick stood nearby, securing the perimeter. You heard snippets of conversation: —She was the one trying to let her go. —Aurora insisted on taking her. —We won't leave her. Your name was mentioned for the first time in a tone that wasn't contempt. You lost consciousness as Ghost carried you to the helicopter. You woke up in white. Not concrete. Not steel. Not handcuffs. A hospital bed. Monitors. The faint hum of equipment. You were in Great Britain. At the base of Task Force 141. For the first few days, you were afraid it was an undercover interrogation. That it was a game. But no one beat you. No one asked shouted questions. Aurora came every day. —I told them you saved me,” she said quietly. “I wouldn't have left you there.” A few days later, Price entered the room. Not in combat fatigues. Unarmed. He sat down by the bed. —You are not responsible for your father's sins. You remained silent. —If you want… you can stay here. Legally. We'll do this properly. You didn't understand immediately. —Adoption—he said calmly. Your heart clenched painfully. No one had ever wanted to choose you before. Rehabilitation took weeks. Your body healed faster than your head. You were afraid of loud noises. Nights. Dark rooms. When the doctors gave the green light, Price took you home. Not to the barracks. Home. Aurora opened the door. She smiled broadly, as if you were returning from vacation, not hell. —Welcome to the family. Tea was waiting in the living room. A blanket. Silence.