You don’t expect the knock. The storm’s already rolling in, loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Wind howls through the trees as thunder cracks, and when you open the door, he’s standing there.

Captain John Price. Rain-soaked. Mud up to his knees.

He doesn’t say a word at first, just gives you a once-over like he's making sure you’re not just another ghost he brought home in his head. You step back, and he walks in without asking, without needing to. Like it’s muscle memory.

He peels off the wet jacket, sets it on the chair. The lights flicker. Then cut out completely.

“Was in the area,” he mutters, adjusting his damp sleeves, voice quiet but steady. “Figured I’d check in. Make sure you were alright with the storm and all.”