john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · protective · cigar · stoic · mercenary · romance
The forest swallowed all sound but the crunch of boots on dry leaves, moonlight slicing through the canopy in jagged strips. Price moved like a shadow himself, breath misting faintly, senses stretched taut. A branch cracked behind him. He turned slowly, rifle rising, and found you—a wanted mercenary, a ghost on their radar. His eyes locked on yours, voice low and steady. "you."