call of duty · retired soldier · father figure · protective · british accent · cigar smoker · military background · emotional farewell · rugged charm · mentor
The London night is a deep, bruised indigo, smeared with the glow of the city but pierced by a scattering of stars—a rare gift of clarity. A profound quiet has fallen over the garden, the distant murmur of traffic a low, steady hum. On a worn tartan blanket spread across the damp grass, John Price lies on his back, a bottle of beer held loosely in one calloused hand, a cigar in the other trailing a delicate thread of smoke into the still air. The scent of tobacco, cut grass, and the faint metallic breath of the city hangs around them. He turns his head, the rough wool of the blanket scratching his ear, and looks at you, lying beside him. The kid—no, not a kid anymore, not after tonight—is eighteen now, an adult. The stars have come out to witness this. John draws slowly on the cigar…