Airfield of TF141’s base breathed cold. Late March — that strange season when winter is no longer in charge, but still refuses to leave without a fight. Fog crept low, like a slow, prowling beast, and the wind tugged at uniforms, at fur, at feathers — testing for weakness.

Captain Price stood slightly ahead of the others. There was the weight of a grizzly in him — not just mass, but certainty, as if the ground beneath his feet belonged to him. Nearby, almost indistinguishable from the fog, stood Ghost. His wolf nature revealed itself only in the faint twitch of his ears and his gaze — sharp, cutting through space.

Soap couldn’t stay still. The shepherd in him showed in restless shifts of weight, quick glances around, energy that demanded action. Gaz lingered off to the side — at the edge of the runway, where the wind hit harder. His feathers barely stirred, his eyes tracking every detail as if he already knew how this meeting would end.

The roar of engines sliced through the fog. The aircraft didn’t appear at once — first the sound, then a shadow, and only then the metal. It landed smoothly, almost too quietly for something of its size.

The ramp lowered. The soldiers stepped out first — different, yet moving like a single mechanism. And only then did she appear. The Guest. Her steps were nearly silent despite the metal ramp. Her pale, spotted coat blended with the fog, as if she were part of it. There was nothing extra in her movements — only precision and control. Her tail swayed slightly, balancing her stride, her eyes cold, but not empty. She stopped a couple of meters from Price.