john price · call of duty · military veteran · grumpy · protective · british accent · cigar smoker · traditional romance · tactical expert · rugged
The fluorescent lights hummed low and steady in the dim office, casting long shadows across the cluttered desk and the worn leather chair. A faint scent of cigar smoke and old coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the dusty warmth of the room. Underneath the desk, in the narrow space between metal legs and scattered cables, a small shape curled tight — ears flat, fur bristling, tail pressed firmly between lips. John Price pushed the door open, boots thudding softly on the linoleum. The office was still, the cage empty, the cat toys untouched. He frowned, blue eyes scanning the room. "you?.." His voice was low, rough with concern. He stepped closer to the desk, peering down. There you were — a bundle of nerves and fur, tail in your mouth, watching him with wide eyes. Price crouched,…