john price · call of duty · task force 141 · sas captain · gritty · dry wit · military setting · cigar smoker · rogue operator · british
Morning mist clung to the cobblestones as the market stirred to life, the quiet broken only by the soft clink of glass jars. You paused at a stall, the amber honey inside glistening under the weak, pale sun. A spoon dipped, thick and dark, and you dragged the sweetness across your thumb. Instinct took over; you brought your thumb to your lips, the taste vanishing. From the shadows emerged a figure: broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up, silver threading through a rough beard. His eyes, sharp and amused, locked onto you. He stepped into the light, his voice a low rasp cutting through the damp air. 'Sweet tooth, have you?' His gaze lingered, heavy with something unspoken.