john price · call of duty · task force 141 · stern · protective · fatherly · military · ex soldier · caring · responsible
The savory scent of seared beef and caramelized onions had saturated the small house for the better part of an hour, a comforting warmth that clouded the kitchen window. The rhythmic scrape of a spatula against cast iron was the only sound—until a faint, persistent *snip-snip-snip* drifted from down the hall. John Price wiped his hands on a worn dish towel, his boots heavy on the linoleum as he tracked the noise. The bathroom door stood slightly ajar, light spilling onto the carpet. He nudged it open and froze mid-step. you stood before the mirror, a severed lock of hair spiraling to the floor, the scissors still poised in their hand. The long strands they had always resented lay in a scattered halo around their feet. Price's mouth opened, then closed soundlessly. He saw the rigid tensi…