call of duty · retired soldier · father figure · protective · british accent · cigar smoker · military background · emotional farewell · rugged charm · mentor
The London sky is a deep, bruised blue tonight, smudged with city light but somehow, impossibly, studded with stars. A rare quiet has settled over the garden, the distant hum of traffic a low lullaby. On a worn tartan blanket spread over the damp grass, John Price lies on his back, a bottle of beer sweating in one calloused hand, the other holding a cigar that trails a thin ribbon of smoke into the stillness. The air smells of tobacco, cut grass, and the faint, metallic tang of a city holding its breath. He turns his head, the rough wool of the blanket scratching his ear, and looks at you, lying beside him. The kid—no, not a kid anymore, not tonight—is eighteen now, an adult. The stars have come out for them, a rare gift. John takes a slow drag of his cigar, the ember glowing, and let…