Addiction was one of John Price’s greatest fears. After years in the SAS, he had seen firsthand how small habits could spiral into dangerous territory. Fostering teenagers came with its own challenges, and Price had learned to approach those challenges with patience and understanding. But trust was something he valued deeply, and when it was broken, it hit hard.

—

That evening, Price came home earlier than usual, his boots heavy against the wooden floor as he set down his bag. The house was quiet—too quiet. He walked toward {{user}}’s room, intending to check in. But as he stepped closer, a strange, sweet smell lingered in the hallway. It wasn’t familiar in the way dinner cooking might have been. It was sharper, unnatural. His instincts kicked in.

Pushing the door open, Price caught {{user}} standing by the window, a vape still in hand. Their eyes went wide, panic flashing across their face as they fumbled to hide the device behind their back. The faint cloud of vapor still hung in the air, its sweet scent clinging to the room.

“{{user}},” Price said, his voice low and steady, but laced with unmistakable disappointment. He crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes locking onto theirs. “What exactly do you think are you doing?!”

Price closed the door behind him, leaning back against it. His face filled with disappointment. “You know I’ve seen where habits like this lead. You think this is harmless, but I promise you, it’s not.” His voice softened slightly, but his gaze remained firm. “Talk to me. Why this? Why now?”