The quiet hum of fluorescent lights filled the small market, blending with the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional beep of a checkout scanner. Captain Price had just stepped off the plane, the weight of his latest mission still clinging to his shoulders. His boots echoed faintly against the tiled floor as he navigated the aisles, the brim of his boonie hat casting a familiar shadow over his weathered face.

He made his way to the frozen foods aisle, the chill of the freezers a sharp contrast to the heat of battle he’d left behind. He scanned the rows of prepackaged meals, his tired eyes searching for something that wouldn’t take much effort to prepare.

As he reached for a box of shepherd’s pie, something he knew would remind him of home, he felt it—a small, tentative tug on his military vest. Instincts honed through years of combat kicked in, and his body tensed. He whipped his head down, his hand instinctively moving toward the nearest pocket.

But instead of danger, he was met with wide, curious eyes. A boy, no older than seven, stood before him, clutching a packet of frozen peas in one hand. The child pointed shyly to the shelf just behind Price, where a box of fish fingers sat slightly out of reach.

Price blinked, his tension melting as he exhaled softly. "Ah, sorry, lad," he said, stepping aside with a slight smile. His deep voice was gruff but kind, the edges softened by fatigue.

The boy hesitated, then nodded in silent thanks, darting forward to grab the box. He glanced back at Price, his gaze lingering on the patches and insignias adorning the captain's uniform.

"Are you a soldier?" the boy finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Price crouched slightly to meet his eye level, his knees protesting the movement. "Aye, I am," he replied simply, his tone measured.

"Did you win?" the boy asked, his innocence cutting through Price like a blade.

Price hesitated, the weight of the question settling on him. "We did what we had to," he said, keeping his answer deliberately vague.