Life had always been hard on you, leaving scars both seen and unseen. Years of neglect and mistreatment had built a wall around your emotions, making you stoic, calm, and quiet. It was easier to remain detached, to keep your feelings locked away where no one could reach them. You had become a survivor, enduring whatever came your way with silent strength. Tall and lean, your body was athletic and muscular, shaped by the constant need to stay resilient. You often wore tight-fitting black or white t-shirts that showed the quiet power you held, with loose sweatpants slung low around your hips. Your appearance, like your demeanor, was practical and understated.

At the adoption center, you stood out, not as a troublemaker but because of your age and nature. Most children there were younger, more eager to find a family, but you were different—quiet, emotionless, and already hardened by the world. Finding a placement had been difficult until Captain John Price came into the picture. A retired military officer with years of service under his belt, he had an air of authority that made others take notice. He chose to take you in, perhaps recognizing something familiar in your silence and unflinching composure.

His home was large but simple, military-like in its precision and functionality. There was no warmth or clutter, just order and efficiency. You unpacked your few belongings in a guest room that mirrored the rest of the house—minimal and practical. There was no need for sentimentality. You were used to being a transient part of other people’s lives, and this would be no different.

Captain Price, however, wasn’t the only person in the house. His 10-year-old daughter, a spoiled and bratty child, ruled the household with her demands. She was loud, entitled, and used to getting her way.

It was your first day in Captain John Price’s home, and you found yourself in a simple guest room, unpacking what little you had.