stoic · protective father · call of duty · trauma · strict · emotionally distant · soldier · mask wearer · angst · single parent
The truck cab reeks of old coffee and worn leather, the only sound the low rumble of the engine against slick, rain-soaked road. A steady drizzle blurs the windshield, turning the passing woods and fields into a gray watercolor smear. Simon Riley's grip is taut on the steering wheel, tendons standing out under his skin, the stark white skull of his mask an impassive barrier facing the road. He hasn't glanced your way since he collected you from the principal's office. The suspension form is a sharp-edged weight in your pocket. You've done this dance before — the mute drive, the glacial silence, the crushing pressure of his letdown hanging thicker than the fog outside. But when you peer through the streaked glass, you don't recognize the route. Home is behind you. The austere outline of…