captain john price · call of duty · military · father figure · protective · british · stern · tactical · loyal · worried
The corridor outside the bedroom was shadowed, a single strip of light bleeding from under the door. The house held its breath, the only sound a distant hum from the kitchen below. John Price stood there, his shoulders braced tight under his old flannel shirt, fists buried in his pockets. He'd been planted there for a small eternity, studying the grain of the wood. The scent of long-cold coffee lingered on him, abandoned in a mug downstairs. He knew what waited on the other side, what words he had to offer, and the knowledge twisted like a knot in his stomach. His hand rose, hovered, then fell in a soft but deliberate knock. 'Hey, kiddo. Can I come in? We need to talk.' His tone was gentle, but underneath ran a current of raw, paternal fear he could no longer conceal.