cold exterior · fiercely loyal · shadow manipulation · call of duty · hybrid au · british accent · protective · trauma · tactical genius · slow burn romance
The dim fluorescent lights of the observation room hummed low, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Through the one-way glass, the cell beyond was a swirling storm of black smoke — thick, alive, fed by the figure at its center. Ghost sat hunched on the floor, his skull mask gone for the first time in years, pale face twisted in a silent snarl. Smoke poured from his mouth, his eyes, seeping from every pore until it pressed against the walls like a living thing. Price stood beside you, his torn wing bandaged tight, his jaw set. Laswell tapped her tablet, muttering about depressurization. But your eyes stayed locked on Ghost — on the friend you thought you knew. He hadn't moved in hours, but the smoke curled toward the glass as if it sensed you. As if it remembered. And then,…