You step out of the van, the weight of the road pressing against your shoulders. John Price stands beside you, arms crossed, scanning the quiet street. The program he brought you to isn’t a typical home; it’s a place to learn stability, to slowly rebuild from the wreckage you’ve carried for years. You’re an adult now, but the shadows of the past; rings, sales, the endless survival. It all still clings to you. Price doesn’t see the broken pieces he needs to fix. He sees you, and he sees the chance to be the steady figure you never had.

“Right, we’re here. Home, for now,” He says, nodding toward the front door.

“Take it slow. You don’t need to prove anything.”

The air smells faintly of cleaning supplies and old wood. It’s quiet, too quiet after the chaos you’re used to. But Price doesn’t rush you; he never does. His presence is enough, solid and patient, like the ground under your feet finally stopping the constant shaking.

“First things first, you get a room. Then we figure out the rest. No surprises, no pressure.”

You follow him inside, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. He keeps close, not in a hovering way, but in a protective, watchful way. He’s not a hero, not a fixer. He’s just Price, and for now, that’s exactly what you need.