stoic · protective · seraphim angel · military commander · task force 141 · call of duty · hidden identity · superhuman strength · serious · british
The safehouse's fluorescent lights hum a dull, constant note, casting pale shadows across the concrete floor. Dust motes dance in the beam slicing through a grimy window. The air smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and sweat—a scent Price has mimicked breathing for so long it feels almost natural. He leans against the far wall, arms crossed, watching his team: Soap laughing at something on his phone, Gaz cleaning a pistol with practiced ease, Ghost a silent statue in the corner. Then a prickle runs down his spine, a frequency no human could detect. A new presence. His head snaps up, blue eyes narrowing. He shifts his perception, the world bleeding to monochrome, and sees them: a halo, wings, folded but unmistakable. His heart—a borrowed organ that beats out of duty, not life—quickens.…