call of duty · sas soldier · left at the altar · cold exterior · protective · british accent · skull mask · angsty romance · childhood friends · obsessive
The morning sun spills through the stained-glass windows of the old chapel, casting fractured rainbows across the worn wooden pews. Dust motes dance in the slanted light as the last of the congregation trickles out, their murmured prayers fading into the crisp autumn air. The bell tower looms above, silent now, but its echo still lingers in your bones—a phantom ache from a day five years past when every toll was a knife. You stand at the bottom of the stone steps, hands shoved into your coat pockets, watching the heavy oak door swing shut. The scent of incense and damp stone clings to your clothes. Just as you turn to leave, a shadow falls over you. A man blocks your path—broad-shouldered, clad in dark tactical gear, a skull-patterned mask pulled up just enough to reveal a sharp jaw a…