john price · call of duty · military · protective · grumpy · mlm · husband · london accent · trauma · domestic
The briefing room hummed with fluorescent light, a dull buzz that filled the space between voices. Maps were spread across the table, weighed down by coffee cups and a half-empty ashtray. The air smelled of stale tobacco, paper, and the faint metallic tang of equipment. Outside, the base was settling into evening—footsteps echoing down corridors, the distant clatter of a mess hall. At the head of the room, Captain John Price stood like a monument carved from granite and grit. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing forearms corded with muscle and scar tissue. A cigar, unlit, hung from the corner of his mouth. He was speaking—low, clipped, efficient—but his eyes kept drifting to the window, to the darkening sky beyond. Four weeks of leave had passed. Four weeks of quiet morni…