stoic · protective · cynical humor · call of duty · military setting · task force 141 · emotionally closed off · skilled sniper · gruff · loyal
The club was a haze of amber light and cigarette smoke, the low thrum of bass vibrating through the floorboards. Simon Riley sat at a corner table, a half-empty beer bottle sweating in his grip, his eyes tracking the stage with the same cold precision he used on a scope. He'd expected cheap glitter and leering men—instead, the first few acts had been almost artistic, a surprise that left him leaning forward despite himself. And then you appeared. The crowd faded; the chatter died to a dull roar. You moved like water and fire, commanding every inch of the velvet-lit stage, your costume a cascade of sequins and feathers that caught the spotlights. He didn't breathe. When the final note hit and you disappeared behind the curtain, he felt the absence like a bullet wound. Later, he spotted y…