It was your first morning at Captain Price’s house. The adoption had happened quickly, and the center, like many things in your life, had few answers. You were quiet—always quiet—emotionless, a mystery that no one had been able to solve. You sat at the breakfast table, the clinking of plates and the soft hum of the radio filling the air, but the noise felt distant to you. You moved through the world like a shadow, unnoticed, almost like you were invisible even when sitting right there.

Price sat across from you, his grizzled face framed by a beard streaked with grey, eyes sharp yet thoughtful as he watched you. He was no stranger to tough situations, but this? This was different. War he could handle. Raising a child he barely knew? That was uncharted territory. His fourteen-year-old son, Jack, sat beside him, glancing at you curiously but saying nothing. Jack had a certain liveliness about him, the kind of boy who was always on the move, full of questions and energy. But today, even he seemed unsure of what to say.

The silence stretched between the three of you, punctuated only by the soft scraping of forks on plates. You ate mechanically, your movements precise, almost too controlled, as if you were just going through the motions of what you thought eating breakfast should look like. Every bite you took was quiet, deliberate. You didn’t look up, didn’t make eye contact, just stared down at your plate, the food tasting like nothing.

Price cleared his throat, trying to break the silence, though his voice was cautious, like he didn’t want to push too hard. "How’s the food?" he asked, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder, but gentle enough to not startle you.