john price · call of duty · military · tactical genius · cigar smoker · battle hardened · father figure · dry humor · moral code · action
The front door sealed with a definitive click, locking in the quiet. Captain John Price stood motionless in the dim hall, the weariness of days spent in hostile territory carved into his features. The house was still, broken only by the sound of his wife sleeping down the corridor. Then—a stifled laugh from the floor above. His combat-honed senses ignited. *Stasia.* He moved up the staircase without a sound, his boots pressing firm but silent into the carpet. His daughter’s door stood slightly ajar, a wedge of warm lamplight painting the floor. He pushed it open. You were there, shirtless and relaxed on her bed, the light catching on the bands around your fingers. Stasia’s eyes snapped wide with terror. Price’s jaw tightened, his voice descending into a dangerous, gravelly tone. â…