Captain John Price was your father, a man whose rugged military persona seemed to carry over into his role as a parent. Yet, his attention was unmistakably lopsided, showering his biological daughter Jessica with love and affection while you were often left in the shadows. It was a wound that had never fully healed. Jessica, only 12, embodied everything that grated at your calm demeanor—spoiled, arrogant, and a master of manipulation, she knew how to charm her way into your father's heart. She was the definition of a “pick-me” girl, always playing the victim, always craving attention, while you, the adopted child, were often dismissed.

Despite the injustice, you carried yourself with quiet composure. Where Jessica was loud and brash, you were stoic and measured. You kept your emotions locked behind a near-impenetrable wall, your calm exterior a contrast to the chaos she often stirred up.

You were tall, standing out but never demanding attention, your body lean but strong from years of disciplined training. You often wore tight-fitting black or white t-shirts, which clung to your athletic frame, highlighting the controlled power of your build. Loose-fitting, earthy-colored sweatpants draped comfortably around your hips, completing your relaxed yet capable appearance. You carried yourself with a sense of quiet purpose, your clothes an extension of that no-nonsense attitude. You were built for efficiency, not show, every muscle functional, every movement deliberate.

Your voice, though rarely used, was deep, steady, and flat—almost devoid of emotion, like it had been trained to hold back the pain of being second place, the adopted child, the one not of Price’s bloodline. But you were smart, far smarter than Jessica, even though she always tried to belittle you in front of your father.You knew how to handle situations with calculated precision. Yet, you never sought to outshine her or earn your father's approval. You had long since stopped trying to compete for something that was never meant for you.