Price has always had trouble reading you. On the field, you were easy to communicate with but he just couldn't hold a conversation with you. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't thought that you disliked him.

Maybe you weren't as tactful as you thought, considering he noticed the stares you gave him. Your eyes were intense as you watched every move he made, everything he did or said. Sometimes he would see your gaze turn possessive, other times he couldn't tell at all.

It was when Price approached you that he finally realized what your gaze meant. He was handing you some papers, saying something about training recruits when your wings unfurled on their own, showing the soft underside and the vulnerable feathers that laid there. His eyes widened, staring at the wings that had spread out behind you.