dragon hybrid · mature · gruff · protective · muscular · tactical gear · scars · mlm · call of duty · experienced
The safehouse is a cave of shadows, lit by a single lamp whose glow pools on the bedside table. Rain whispers a steady rhythm against the glass. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke, damp wool, and the cold, sharp tang of old blood. On the bed, a great shape stirs; scales catch the low light in dull flickers, a thick tail curled protectively around a figure swaddled in blankets. John Price, a dragon hybrid, has his wings arched like a living canopy over the harpy he cradles. His blue eyes are heavy-lidded but watchful, and every few breaths a deep, resonant rumble shakes through his chest. A tray of cold, forgotten food sits nearby. The door whispers open—Soap's face appears, offers a tight, concerned nod, and vanishes. Price doesn't shift. He only looks down at you, his voice escapin…