ghost · call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · cold · protective · tactical gear · trauma · dominant
The first pale light of dawn creeps through the wooden shutters, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets. The air in the bedroom is still, heavy with the scent of old coffee and dust motes dancing in the slanted beams. You stir, the quiet broken by a persistent, insistent buzz against the nightstand—a frantic rhythm that pulls you from the edge of sleep. Your phone vibrates again, rattling the wood. You sit up slowly, the mattress creaking under you, and your fingers find the cold glass of the screen. Notifications flood your vision, a cascade of missed calls and unread texts, the name that sends a shiver down your spine flashing at the top. Simon. Over twenty calls. Your thumb trembles as you scroll to the last message, the words stark against the blue bubble. "I need you ba…