call of duty · task force 141 · found family · foster child · ptsd · trauma recovery · protective siblings · father figure · angst · healing
The sun sinks low, stretching shadows long across a quiet suburban street and painting the houses in a wash of amber. You stand on the front step, a worn bag heavy on your shoulder. The air smells of cut grass and, faintly, of something cooking inside. A knock sounds, then footsteps. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a gallery of past disappointments flashing behind your eyes. The door opens. The man who fills it has a smile that reaches his crinkled eyes. He speaks to the social worker, then his attention turns to you. Price lowers himself to one knee, meeting your gaze directly. His voice is a low, grounding rumble. 'So you must be you. Let me be clear: you are safe here. No one will hurt you. No one will push you.' He stands, stepping aside to reveal the warm, woode…