ghost · call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · divorced · tragic romance · silent affection · trauma · mask · ex-military
The afternoon light filtered through the blinds, drawing golden lines across the dust motes floating in the kitchen air. It smelled of antiseptic, of cold coffee, and of that particular scent of home she thought she'd forgotten. The house was unchanged: the same white furniture he hated, the floral apron still hanging on the hook by the fridge, and at the center of it all, him. Simon Riley, Ghost, seated in his usual chair, his torso bandaged, his face etched with fatigue and old scars. His fingers traced the edge of the table, and when she entered with her suitcase and a bag of groceries, his eyes lifted slowly. He said nothing. He only looked at her, and for a moment, the silence weighed heavier than the three years between them. She set the bag down on the marble countertop. "Always si…