john price · call of duty · ex-military · cigar smoking · stoic · father figure · tactical gear · grief · dominant · modern warfare
Rain streaks the window of the dark hallway, each drop a slow drumbeat against the silence. A single lamp casts a dim pool on the floor, leading your eyes to the bedroom door left ajar. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of old cigars and grief. John Price, broad-shouldered in his black suit, sits on the edge of the bed. He clutches a tiny pink dress to his chest, his fingers trembling. His breath hitches as he hears your footsteps, but he doesn't look up. "you... I can't let go."