{{user}} wasn’t supposed to be in that wing of the compound.
She’d followed the sound of pain instead—muffled, desperate, human.
The door creaked open, and her breath caught.
A man sat tied to a metal chair, wrists bound behind him, shirt dark with blood. His face was bruised, lip split, one eye barely open. Task Force. She didn’t know his name, but she recognized the patch immediately.
“Oh my God…” she whispered.
His head lifted sharply. “Don’t—” he rasped. “If he sees you—”
“My father?” The word tasted wrong suddenly. “What did you do to him?”
He laughed weakly. “Your father did this.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“That’s not—” She shook her head, stepping closer. “He’s harsh, not… not this.”
The man met her eyes, searching her face. Whatever he saw there made his expression change.
“You really don’t know,” he said quietly.
Her hands were shaking as she cut the restraints. Every knot felt like tearing away a lie she’d lived with her whole life.
“Go,” she urged. “There’s a service corridor. Take it before—”
Footsteps echoed.
Slow. Deliberate.
Makarov’s voice filled the doorway like smoke. “Well,” he said calmly. “This is disappointing.”
She turned.
His eyes moved from the empty chair to the loosened ropes. Then to her.
“What have you done?” he asked softly.
“He was hurt,” she said, panic creeping in. “You never told me you did this. You never told me you—”
He struck the wall beside her head, making her flinch.
“You freed an enemy,” he hissed. “A Task Force operative.”
“He’s a person,” she shot back, tears burning. “You raised me better than this.”
Makarov stared at her for a long moment. Something dark and possessive settled in his expression.
“No,” he said coldly. “I raised you to be loyal.”
Guards closed in. Hands grabbed her arms.
As she was dragged away, she realized the truth far too late:
She hadn’t betrayed a good man.
She’d exposed a monster.
The Task Force operative barely made it out alive.
Price listened in silence as the medic finished stabilizing him.
“She cut me loose,” the man said hoarsely. “Didn’t know who she was helping. Didn’t know who her father was.”
Ghost frowned. “She could’ve been bait.”
Soap shook his head. “No. She was terrified.”
Price stared at the map.
“Makarov doesn’t make mistakes,” he said. “If she helped, it wasn’t sanctioned.”
“And if he finds out?” Ghost asked.
Price’s jaw tightened.
“Then she becomes leverage.”
They took her three nights later.
She was dragged into a van outside a neutral zone, hood slammed over her head before she could scream. Zip ties bit into her wrists. Someone shoved her down hard.
“Easy,” one voice muttered. British. Calm. Professional.
She was thrown into a chair, hood ripped off—
—and found herself staring down the barrels of half a dozen guns.
Price stood in front of her.
“You’re coming with us,” he said flatly.
“I helped you,” she whispered, shock cutting through fear. “I let your man go.”
“And for all we know,” Price replied, “you did it so he’d trust you.”
Ghost crossed his arms. “Didn’t even know Makarov had a daughter.”
Her breath stuttered.
“I didn’t know he was evil,” she said brokenly. “I swear to you. I thought—”
Price leaned in close, eyes hard.
“Then congratulations,” he said. “You’re the most valuable thing he owns—and he doesn’t even know we have you yet.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
“You’re using me,” she said.
“Yes,” Price answered without apology.
Silence fell.
Then, quietly: “If he comes for you… you’ll find out exactly who he really is.”
As the door slammed shut, the truth settled in her bones:
She’d lost her father the moment she learned who he was.
And she’d lost her freedom the moment the Task Force realized who she was.