call of duty · military · bromance · camping · ghost · price · soap · stoic · rugged
The final sliver of sun vanished behind the pines, stretching shadows across the crude campsite where the day's labor had left everyone raw and spent. Embers glowed in the firepit, the air carrying the scent of charred meat and damp earth. Price dragged a calloused hand over his face, the motion weary. ‘Time to bunk down,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘Before the mosquitoes treat us like a buffet.’ Soap followed with a muttered, irritable agreement, his Scottish lilt sharp. You hesitated, feeling the distance between your world and theirs, until Ghost’s gaze found you. It was a cold, assessing stare. ‘Inside,’ he ordered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. ‘We don’t do standing around. We move.’