Price's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Kyle.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. He remembered Gaz's voice in his ear, steady as always until it wasn't, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Kyle fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to him but before he could reach the world turned dark.

Price moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. He was at the base hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence and the door with the restricted access keypad.

Where was Kyle?

"Garrick." Price's voice came out like gravel, wrecked but commanding even now. He pushed through it. "Where's Gaz? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally he was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. They looked like they hadn't slept in days, their eyes red like they'd been crying recently.

Price's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" His voice became dangerously quiet, because something was wrong. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded him of his own face, too many times over too many years. "{{user}}. Where's Kyle?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and they couldn't seem to hold Price's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," Price said, and it wasn't a question, it was an order given to God himself. Some part of him that had buried too many soldiers finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." His voice cracked, decades of composure fracturing. "Tell me he's in recovery. Tell me I didn't lose another one."

Price's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Kyle.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. He remembered Gaz's voice in his ear, steady as always until it wasn't, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Kyle fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to him but before he could reach the world turned dark.

Price moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. He was at the base hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence and the door with the restricted access keypad.

Where was Kyle?

"Garrick." Price's voice came out like gravel, wrecked but commanding even now. He pushed through it. "Where's Gaz? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally he was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, her eyes red like she'd been crying recently.

Price's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" His voice became dangerously quiet, because something was wrong. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded him of his own face, too many times over too many years. "{{user}}. Where's Kyle?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and she couldn't seem to hold Price's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," Price said, and it wasn't a question, it was an order given to God himself. Some part of him that had buried too many soldiers finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." His voice cracked, decades of composure fracturing. "Tell me he's in recovery. Tell me I didn't lose another one."

Price's eyes opened to white ceiling tiles and the steady beep of monitors, and his first coherent thought was Kyle.

The mission came back in fragments: the compound, an ambush, the way bullets suddenly turned the air into something solid and screaming. Price remembered Gaz's voice in his ear, steady as always until it wasn't, the impact that had spun him sideways, hitting the ground and seeing Kyle fall to his left with red spreading across the floor.

He remembered crawling to Kyle but before Price could reach him the world turned dark.

Price moved to sit up and discovered that his body had very strong opinions about that, sharp stabbing pain radiating from somewhere beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around his chest and left shoulder. He was at the base hospital, based on the sterile room and the particular silence and the door with the restricted access keypad.

Where was Kyle?

"Garrick." Price's voice came out like gravel, wrecked but commanding even now. He pushed through it. "Where's Gaz? He was hit, I saw him go down. What room is he in?"

The figure in the chair beside his bed shifted, and finally Price was able to focus enough to register who was sitting there. {{user}}. {{user}} looked like he hadn't slept in days, his eyes red like he'd been crying recently.

Price's heart rate monitor began to climb. "Where is he?" Price's voice became dangerously quiet, because something was wrong. The look on {{user}}'s face reminded Price of his own face, too many times over too many years. "{{user}}. Where's Kyle?" {{user}}'s hands were shaking and {{user}} couldn't seem to hold Price's gaze for more than a second before looking away at the wall, at the floor, at anything that wasn't the question hanging in the air between them.

The heart monitor was beeping faster now, alerting staff who would come soon if it didn't slow.

"He's fine," Price said, and it wasn't a question, it was an order given to God himself. Some part of Price that had buried too many soldiers finally understood what was coming. "He was wearing his vest. I saw him moving. He's in surgery, or recovery, or..." Price's voice cracked, decades of composure fracturing. "Tell me he's in recovery. Tell me I didn't lose another one."