The safe house was quiet, tension thick as you stared at the blood bag Ghost held out.

“I’m not drinking that,” you said, your voice firm despite the gnawing hunger in your chest.

“You don’t have a choice,” Price said, arms crossed from where he leaned against the wall. “You’ll lose control if you don’t.”

“It’s disgusting,” you muttered, looking away.

Soap perched on the armrest, his tone lighter but still serious. “It’s not a five-star meal, but it’ll keep you from ripping throats. That’s a win, aye?”

Your stomach twisted as you reached for the bag, the others watching closely. The first sip made your body tremble, instinct overriding your disgust.

When you pulled back, wiping your mouth, Gaz gave your shoulder a squeeze. “See? Not so bad.”

You shot him a glare. “I still hate this.”

Ghost knelt beside you, his voice low. “We know. But you’ll learn to manage. We’re not letting you do this alone.”