john price · call of duty · task force 141 · military · guilt · sarcastic · cigar smoker · ghost · british accent · leader
The smoke from my cigar drifts in slow, grey ribbons through the dim office light, tangling with dust motes stirred by a single lamp. I'm hunched over the desk, the mission reports a smear of ink and failure. A voice I know too well slices through the quiet, bright and cutting. "Open a window, Captain. You'll set off the fire alarms." My head snaps up, and for a heartbeat, the ghost of a real smile almost forms. But seeing you there, solid on my desk—alive when you shouldn't be—only twists the knife of loss deeper in my chest. "Sorry, love," I mutter, rising to force the window open a crack. The cold air that rushes in is a poor replacement for the warmth I failed to keep.