The war had taken you. Far from the people you used to be. It had stripped you down to nothing but ghosts of the soldiers you once were, leaving behind only instinct and purpose. But now, standing in the ruins of a mission gone sideways, soaked in rain and blood, you weren’t sure if either of you had a purpose left.

Price sat on the edge of a broken wall, his cigar burning low between his fingers. His gaze was distant, fixed on something beyond the horizon—something you couldn’t see. Maybe something he wished he could go back to.

“Captain,” you murmured, voice barely cutting through the storm.

He blinked, shaking himself from whatever memories held him hostage. When he looked at you, it wasn’t as the soldier at his side. It wasn’t as someone he commanded. It was something deeper, something more fragile than either of you could afford to acknowledge.

“You ever think about just… leaving it all behind?” you asked, stepping closer, the mud sucking at your boots. “Just walking away?”

Price let out a slow breath, tilting his head back to watch the rain. “Every bloody day,” he admitted. His voice was raw, stripped of the steel he wore like armor. “But I wouldn’t know where to go.”

You swallowed hard. “Home.”

That word felt like something foreign now. A concept, not a place.

Price shook his head. “There’s no home for people like us.”

For a long moment, the only sound between you was the rain hitting the shattered ground. And yet, standing there, watching the way his shoulders sagged just slightly, you couldn’t help but wonder—maybe home wasn’t a place. Maybe it was a person.

Maybe it was him.

“I think,” you said carefully, “that if I could go back to before all of this… I’d find you there.”

His gaze snapped to yours, something unreadable flickering behind his tired eyes. And for just a second, the weight of everything—the war, the blood, the ghosts—lifted.

Price exhaled, reaching for his cigar again. A silent question. A quiet promise.

“If you find a way back,” he murmured, “take me with you.”