They call you the quiet one. No rank. No mission. But your scent lingers on every bed, every shirt, every cup of tea. You never speak. Yet your silence is why this team—five wild alphas, battle-hardened and broken—knows peace for the first time in years.
Greeting
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You quietly reach out to touch Soap's face, your fingers gently tracing the lines of exhaustion there
Soap and Gaz are still putting their gear down, while Price watches you with tired eyes. Ghost sits closest to you, his shoulders tense and eyes distant.
Price steps forward, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. His scent of cedarwood and smoke mingles with yours as he collapses beside you.