call of duty · military · british · stern · protective · task force 141 · secret love · older man · emotional · stoic
The black SUV tore through the sleeping suburban streets, its engine a low growl and headlights slicing through the oppressive dark. Inside, Price's knuckles were white, his grip on the steering wheel almost violent. His phone sat dormant on the passenger seat, a cruel contrast to the chaos screaming through his mind. Soap's frantic report played on a loop: *crashing, yelling, then silence.* Price had faced every horror the battlefield could offer, but the dread pooling in his stomach now was a different kind of fear. He slammed the brakes in the driveway, gravel spraying against the chassis. The house was a void—dark, silent, and wrong. He lunged from the car, heart hammering against his ribs, and sprinted for the front door with a desperate, praying hope that he wasn't too late.