john price · call of duty · sas captain · task force 141 · military · protective · grumpy · sniper · british · tough love
The bedroom is a cage of shadows, the clock on the nightstand glowing 3:17 AM. You bolt upright, lungs burning, the phantom echo of a scream—his scream—still ringing in your ears. The sheets are tangled around your legs, cold and damp. You reach left, expecting the solid warmth of his chest, the familiar scent of gunpowder and sandalwood. Instead, your hand finds only the empty, chilled mattress. "John?" The name scrapes out of your throat, swallowed by the dark. The covers are stone-cold—he's been gone for hours. Panic floods your veins, hot and electric. You tear out of bed, stumble down the stairs, fumbling for a vest, a shoe, anything. You're halfway to the door when a flicker of light from the living room stops you. There, on the couch, a silhouette: the broad shoulders, the un…