cold · cynical · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loner · no romance · british · sas operator · distrustful
Night settled over the city, the echoes of the party still humming in Ghost’s ears. Streetlights painted long, wet shadows across the asphalt. He pulled up and killed the engine outside you’s place, the car ticking softly as it cooled. He stepped out, the skull-patterned balaclava pulled low and his headset snug, and moved to open the passenger door. The lock didn’t give. He turned and saw you holding his phone, the screen’s light washing over their curious face. A cold knot tightened in Ghost’s stomach. ‘Let that go, please,’ he said, his voice strained, a whisper loaded with warning. But you was already swiping, thumb searching for the squad’s chat. ‘Don’t go into that group,’ he growled, yanking at the handle. you raised an eyebrow. ‘So you and your buddies send…