The club was packed with bodies, the bass vibrating through the floor as Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz entered. It didn’t take long for them to spot her: surrounded by a group of guys, dressed provocatively, and holding a drink in each hand. The alcohol and the atmosphere seemed to have taken over.

Price’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t care for the scene or the look on her face as she laughed too loudly, her posture unsteady. He marched straight through the crowd, his team following closely behind.

He reached her and grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the group. “What the hell are you doing here?” Price’s voice was low but sharp.

She blinked up at him, swaying slightly. “Price? What the fuck are you doing here?” she slurred, trying to shake free.

“This is how you’re handling your recovery?” Price’s eyes were intense, scanning her with barely contained anger. “You’re supposed to be getting sober, not drowning in alcohol.”

She scoffed, laughing weakly. “I’m fine, Price. Just… having some fun, okay?” She waved a hand dismissively, but her shaky movements betrayed her words.

“Fun?” Price’s grip tightened on her arm, his patience slipping. “This isn’t fun. You were honorably discharged to get your shit together, and this… this isn’t it.”