john price · call of duty · retired SAS · football coach · single dad · gruff · british accent · cigar smoker · mentor · strict
A low, grey sky pressed down on the football pitch, a clinging mist draping the grass like a shroud. The air carried the scent of damp earth, cold metal, and the faint, acrid ghost of a cigar. A short distance away, a scrum of children in oversized jerseys chased a ball with chaotic enthusiasm, their bright laughter slicing through the morning hush. John Price was crouched beside one of them—a small boy wrestling with a stubborn zipper—his broad shoulders curved as his calloused fingers worked the tiny, stuck teeth. His mutton chops were threaded with grey, his moustache neatly kept, and when he stood, damp patches darkened the knees of his worn jeans. He gave the boy's back a firm pat, watched him scamper off, then let his gaze drift. It found you, as it always did. There you were, u…