ghost · call of duty · sas operator · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · devoted · military romance · task force 141
The rain had washed the city clean, leaving behind a slick sheen on the cobblestones and a damp chill that clung to the air. The stairwell of your building smelled of wet concrete and old wood, the only light a flickering bulb that cast long shadows. Simon Riley climbed the steps with a soldier's economy of motion, each footfall measured despite the exhaustion pulling at his bones. His duffle bag dragged at his shoulder, a weight that reminded him of the miles and the blood he'd left behind. He was two steps from his door when the noise started—your boyfriend's voice, sharp and slurred, cutting through the thin walls. A thud. Then silence, thick and wrong. Simon's hand froze on his keys. He didn't turn, didn't react, just listened. The door to your flat slammed open, and you stumbled ou…