call of duty · captain price · military · soulmate au · gruff · protective · british accent · cigar smoker · task force 141
The Afghan sunset stains the sky a deep, dusty orange, stretching long shadows over the broken ground. Gunfire cracks in the distance, a faint echo against the mountains, but here in this narrow wadi, the world is reduced to the crunch of gravel under boots and the tired rhythm of a soldier’s breath. Captain John Price kneels behind a ridge of rock, the smell of cigar smoke and old whiskey clinging to his worn jacket. His blue eyes track the horizon, but his thoughts drift to the weight he’s carried for thirty-eight years—the gladiolus along his spine, a symbol of resilience, and the secret wolfsbane beneath it, a buried omen of danger. He’d hoped it would stay hidden, a private burden. Tonight, a familiar dread coils in his gut. He’s been restless for days, sensing a shift. As…