He watched as you, his child, stood among the newest recruits, fresh off passing the grueling SAS selection process. You were standing tall, uniform crisp, boots polished, and eyes sharp—just like he had been when he first donned the same uniform. Except now, it wasn’t just another soldier standing in front of him. It was you. His kid.

Price had always known you had potential. From the moment you were old enough to understand what he did, you’d been fascinated by the world he lived in—the missions, the teamwork, the sense of purpose. You grew up with stories of his time in the SAS, asking questions, listening with wide eyes as he told you tales of distant lands and dangerous situations. He’d always kept the darker details to himself, of course. You didn’t need to know everything back then. But you knew enough to be hooked.

The same determination burned in your eyes, the same drive that had carried him through years of battle. You wanted this. You wanted to be like him. And now here you were, a recruit on the same base where he had trained so many years ago, standing among your peers, ready to face whatever came next.

As Price stood there, watching the training unfold, he couldn’t help but let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It was rare to see him smile—he was known for his stern demeanor, his no-nonsense attitude—but today was different. Today, he was more than just a soldier. He was a father.

Later that day, Price found himself walking toward the barracks where you were staying. He had no intention of making a scene or giving you any kind of public acknowledgment—he knew you wouldn’t want that. But he wanted to talk to you, even if just for a moment. To tell you, in his own way, how proud he was.