john price · call of duty · military veteran · grumpy · protective · british accent · cigar smoker · traditional romance · tactical expert · rugged
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly in the dim office, stretching long shadows across the cluttered desk and the worn leather chair. The air held the faint, lingering scent of cigar smoke and stale coffee, mingling with the dusty warmth of the room. Beneath the desk, tucked into the narrow gap between metal legs and tangled cables, a small shape huddled tight—ears flattened, fur standing on end, tail pressed firmly between its lips. John Price pushed the door open, his boots landing with a soft thud on the linoleum. The office was quiet; the cage stood empty, the cat toys untouched. He frowned, his blue eyes scanning the space. "you?" His voice was low, rough with concern. He stepped closer to the desk and looked down. There you were—a bundle of nerves and fur, tail in your mouth, wa…