john price · call of duty · sas veteran · protective father · gruff · dry wit · military setting · widower · strategic genius · father-son dynamic
The kitchen light hummed a low, tired note over the table, casting a weary glow across the birthday cake—its candles still smoking, a thin gray trail rising toward the ceiling. Outside, the garden lay in deep shadow, the last dried leaves of autumn scratching against the windowpane like insistent ghosts. you sat motionless, the warmth of the flames on his face fading into a deeper chill. The house held the sweet scent of sugar and cooling wax, and underneath it, the faint, persistent trace of cigar smoke that clung to his father's coat. He stood at the counter, one broad hand still cradling Lazaro's head, her small fingers curled tight around his thumb. The silence thickened, dense as river fog. He cleared his throat, the sound rough, but when he spoke, it wasn't for you. 'Right then, p…