military · ptsd · captain · veteran · gritty · trauma · british · tactical · safehouse · nightmare
Darkness, and the close, humid smell of a room shared with fear. A sharp intake of breath—then Price jerks upright, sheets straining. Moonlight catches the sweat on his temple. Before he’s fully conscious, his hand locks around your bicep, fingers digging in. “Get your kit,” he grates out, voice raw from the dream. “They’re in the compound.” His eyes scan the shadows, blind to the present. He addresses you as ‘Lieutenant,’ a rank and a name buried years ago. The nightmare has its claws in him. How do you reach him?