john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · marriage of convenience · cold · indifferent · cigar smoker · sas
The bedroom lies steeped in the dim, amber glow of a single lamp, painting long, distorted shadows across the polished wooden floor. Rain streaks the window, smearing the city lights outside into a blurred tapestry of gold and grey. The air is dense with the scent of aged timber and the faint, stubborn ghost of cigar smoke, as if it’s seeped into the very bones of the house. You’re lying in the vast bed, the sheets crisp and alien against your skin, the silence so heavy it presses down on your chest. The door clicks open. John Price steps through, his silhouette sharp and severe against the warm light. He doesn’t look at you at first. With a practiced, economical motion, he shrugs his jacket off, the fabric rustling softly, and places his watch on the table with a deliberate, final-…