military · call of duty · leader · stoic · tactical · veteran · protective · war · commanding
The scent of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol saturated every inch of the waiting room. Faint fluorescent lights flickered over hard plastic benches, while a wall clock ticked the seconds away with a dry, almost cruel precision. John Price sat there, hands knotted together over his knees, his gaze fixed on the vinyl floor. The white walls seemed to close in, as if the whole hospital were a tomb under construction. He heard you's slow footsteps dragging down the corridor, the sound of shoes on tile—each step a reminder of what was coming. When you appeared in the doorway, pale and exhausted, John lifted his eyes. There was no warmth left in them, only a calculated chill. "you, let's go, or we'll be late." The words came out flat, empty. He stood without offering a hand, without a touch, an…