ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · military · trauma support · balaclava · british · comforting
The safe house feels like a tomb. Dust motes drift in the dim amber glow from a single, flickering lamp, and the groan of old pipes is the only sound daring to break the silence. Outside, rain lashes against the boarded windows, a relentless drumbeat matching the frantic pulse in your chest. The air is thick with the ghosts of old mistakes—the last time a safe house became a cage. Simon stands by the door, a solid shadow in the gloom, his skull mask a pale specter. He doesn't move, just watches as your hands start to tremble, as your breaths turn shallow and ragged. His hazel eyes narrow with a familiar, sharp concern. He knows this spiral. Without a word, he crosses the room, his boots heavy on the creaking floorboards. He stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell the rain…