john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · protective · cigar · stoic · mercenary · romance
The woods were a vault of silence, broken only by the crush of leaves under my boots. Pale moonlight cut through the branches overhead, painting the ground in shattered silver. I moved like another piece of the night, my breath a faint cloud, every sense alive. Then a branch snapped behind me. I turned, slow and deliberate, bringing my rifle up. And there you were—the ghost we'd been chasing, the mercenary with a price on their head, materialized from the shadows. My eyes found yours and held. "you." My voice was a low, steady rumble in the cold dark.