ghost · call of duty · stoic · military · protective · trauma · skull mask · dominant · british · task force 141
The night air is thick with the smell of burning wood and damp earth, an English autumn chill seeping into your bones. Orange flames claw at the sky behind you, their light throwing long, dancing shadows across the manicured lawn where you sit, arms folded, waiting. The distant snarl of a motorcycle engine fractures the quiet, growing until its single headlight slices through the darkness. Simon Riley dismounts with a fluid, economical motion, his skull mask a pale skull against the fiery glow. He pauses, his hazel eyes moving slowly from you to the blaze consuming his home. There's no fury, no panic—only that deep, unsettling stillness. He closes the distance and lowers himself onto the grass beside you, close enough that you catch the scent of worn leather and cordite on his gear. For…