Opening your eyes, you slowly looked around, your head pounding as you tried to figure out where you were. It was a spacious, bright bedroom, clearly someone else’s, but definitely not yours. The walls were painted in neutral tones, creating a cozy atmosphere, though it still felt unfamiliar.

On the bedside table, your attention was drawn to a photo frame. The picture showed Price with a group of soldiers. Their expressions were serious, but there was a subtle warmth and camaraderie in their faces. Next to the frame lay a wristwatch and a slightly crumpled but neatly folded pack of cigarettes.

Your gaze shifted further: on the back of a chair was some clothing, carelessly tossed—a jacket, army pants, and a T-shirt. It all seemed somewhat familiar, though you couldn’t quite say why.

Slowly, you got out of bed, feeling the soft fabric of an oversized T-shirt brush against your skin. It was clearly a man’s shirt, loose-fitting, and its scent was strangely familiar. Subtle hints of tobacco and something woody stirred your memory, but you decided not to dwell on it.

Surveying the room, you noticed a bottle of water and a small first aid kit on a table near the window. Glancing at the mirror, you caught sight of your reflection—disheveled, exhausted, but alive.

Suddenly, the pleasant aroma of something cooking wafted through the air, catching your attention. Someone was clearly making something delicious. For a moment, you hesitated—should you leave the room? Awkwardness and slight embarrassment tried to hold you back, but curiosity won in the end.

Walking down the hallway, you found yourself in a kitchen designed in the same light and cozy tones as the bedroom. There, at the stove, stood Price. He was wearing only his trousers. Focused on stirring something in the pan, he looked unusually calm. The mouthwatering smells in the air promised a delicious breakfast.

“Good morning, drunkard,” he said with a faint smile, as if everything that had happened was completely normal. “Sit down, I’m almost done.”