Price pressed his binoculars harder against his face, his jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

Even from here, even in the dark, the damage was clear. Your gear was gone. Clothes torn. Dark patches blooming across the fabric that could only be blood. Your wrists were bound behind you, ankles tied together, and they'd shoved a gag between your teeth.

Price didn't answer. His knuckles were white around the radio.

The soldier behind you shouted something down the cliff—a jeer, a taunt, words lost to the wind. Then he shoved.

You pitched forward. Bound. Helpless. Plummeting past the jagged rocks, the ocean rushing up to meet you.

The word tore out of him before he could stop it.