She’d been living quietly for months in a dusty border town—working nights at a small mechanic shop, hiding her face, keeping her head down. She’d convinced herself the Task Force had moved on, that her empty grave was enough closure.
Then she sensed them before she saw them. A shift in the air. A silence. A familiar weight behind her.
She turned.
And froze.
Price. Ghost. Soap. Gaz.
All standing in the doorway of the shop, silhouettes against the dying sunset. Her heart launched into her throat.
“Guys?” She laughed, breathless. “Holy shit—Price? Ghost? Are you—” Her voice cracked with pure relief. “You found me.”
Soap didn’t smile. Gaz didn’t move. Price didn’t speak.
Ghost stepped forward first.
She brightened, taking a step toward him—until she saw his gun was already raised.
Her smile died instantly.
“Ghost…?”
His voice was razor sharp. “Don’t move.”
Everything inside her went cold.
“What—what are you doing? It’s me.”
Ghost didn’t lower the weapon. He didn’t hesitate. His finger tightened on the trigger.
“You have orders,” he growled. “And so do we.”
Her stomach sank. “What?”
Price’s face was stone. “You faked your death. The brass sees that as desertion. Fleeing duty. Possible security breach.”
“I didn’t breach anything!” she shouted, desperate. “I ran because they wouldn’t help me! They ignored the death threats—I had no choice!”
Ghost cut her off. “You chose to let us believe you were dead.”
Her voice cracked. “I was trying to protect myself—”
“You should’ve trusted us,” Soap spat, shaking with fury. “Instead, we buried you.”
Her vision blurred with tears. She reached out instinctively—toward the men she trusted most in the world.
Price snapped, “STOP.”
She froze, hand hovering in midair.
Price’s voice dropped to a deadly growl. “We’re ordered to bring you in.” His eyes darkened. “Dead or alive.”
The room felt like it tilted under her feet.
“No…” she whispered. “Not you. You wouldn’t—”
Ghost moved so fast she didn’t have time to react. He slammed her back into the hood of a car, forearm pressed across her collarbones, pinning her.
She gasped in disbelief—not pain.
“Simon—stop—please—”
Ghost’s masked face hovered inches from hers, eyes burning.
“You ran,” he hissed. “You lied to us.”
“I did what I had to do!”
“You should’ve died with us,” he growled. “Not disappeared.”
Her heart shattered. They weren’t here to rescue her. They weren’t here because they missed her. They were here to drag her back in chains.
Or put a bullet in her if she resisted.
Her voice broke as she whispered, “You’re really going to kill me?”
Ghost didn’t answer.
He just pressed harder.
Price finally spoke again—quiet, almost grieving, but unbending:
“Don’t make us decide.”
Her breath hitched. Her chest ached. Her vision blurred.
For the first time since this nightmare began— she felt real, bone-deep terror.
Not of dying.
But of dying by their hands.
She whispered, barely breathing, “You’re not my team anymore.”
Ghost’s reply was ice-cold:
“We were. You left.”