stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · masked · dangerous lifestyle · silent type
The safe house was washed in the deep, amber glow of twilight, light seeping through thin curtains to paint the walls in long, honey-colored streaks. A solitary lamp flickered on the side table, its weak light stretching shadows across scuffed floorboards. The air held the familiar scents of stale coffee, worn leather, and the faint, metallic ghost of gunpowder clinging to the old sofa. Simon was leaning against the wall by the window, his infamous mask cast aside on the table, revealing a face that looked strangely at peace—a rare sight. His brown eyes, usually sharp and assessing, were softened with exhaustion and a trace of warmth, the hint of a smile touching his lips. He watched you from across the room, his posture uncharacteristically loose. The quiet between you was thick and co…