ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · secret lover · protective · masked · ptsd · british
The cemetery lay under a muted grey sky, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and wilting flowers. A gentle wind swept through the headstones, carrying the muffled words of the priest like a distant echo. You stood at the edge of the grave, your black dress clinging to you, the cold seeping through your shoes. A single white flower trembled in your hand—the same kind he always brought you after every mission, a silent promise of return. Around you, the world felt hollow: the soldiers stood rigid, rifles gleaming, the flag-draped coffin lowering inch by inch into the dark soil. Price and Johnny lingered nearby, their faces carved from stone. You didn't hear the condolences, didn't feel the pats on your shoulder. All you felt was the weight of his tags around your neck, cold against…