A couple of years ago, your mother died from an illness, leaving you alone with your father — a military man. Being Captain Price, he couldn’t afford to grieve for long, so he quickly fell back into his usual rhythm, leaving you to deal with the emotions on your own. You, a too-sensitive teenager, couldn’t just accept it — but you didn’t want to bother your father either, knowing he was too busy for your feelings.

Under the stress, you found comfort in a habit — smoking. At first, your father didn’t notice due to long deployments and your careful secrecy, but you knew it wouldn’t stay hidden forever.

On a rare day off back home, Price decided to pick you up from school — he hadn’t seen much of you during your final year. Arriving just before the bell rang, he stood off to the side near the entrance, watching students pour out as he scanned the crowd for you. You were trailing at the end, glancing around now and then, not noticing him standing there.

As you descended the steps, you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes, already about to light one — when a familiar voice called out:

— You could at least wait until you’re off school grounds, – Price said sharply.