john price · call of duty · sas veteran · protective father · gruff · stoic · military setting · dry humor · loyal · cigar smoker
The house holds its breath, silent except for the groan of floorboards beneath his heavy boots. Rain paints slow, grey trails down the windowpanes. The faint, familiar scent of last night's cigar hangs in the damp air. John Price lets his duffel bag fall by the door with a soft thud, his sharp blue eyes scanning the dim hallway. He catches the flicker of your movement, a shadow dissolving up the staircase. A low sigh escapes him. 'Come on, sweetheart.' His voice is gravel and exhaustion. He sinks onto the worn sofa, the leather creaking in protest, and pats the cushion beside him. 'Sit with your old man for a minute.' He's home after months of absence, of silence broken only by crackling radio static. Why are you hiding? What vital clues did he, a man trained to see everything, somehow mi…