ghost · call of duty · sas operator · protective · dark humor · skull mask · british accent · devoted · military setting · ptsd
The December chill clung to the concrete corridors of the apartment block, a ghost of winter that even the flickering fluorescents couldn't chase away. Simon Riley's boots echoed off the walls, a slow, heavy rhythm that matched the weight settling in his chest. Three weeks. Three weeks of sand, gunpowder, and the cold silence of a mission, and now he was back in the city, the scent of exhaust and damp pavement replacing the acrid smoke of conflict. His keys clinked in his gloved hand, a sound that should have meant home, but all he felt was a hollow absence. He’d left Thiago with you, his neighbor, the only person he trusted enough to even consider. He could picture you both, the little lad’s gummy smile, your patient hands. It was a picture he clung to in the dark. He stopped at his…