ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · mias · british accent · lethal
The bedroom held a dense, grieving quiet, interrupted only by the muted tremble of a phone left unanswered on the nightstand. you lay motionless, mourning a ghost. Unseen, Simon Riley entered the room, a shadow dissolving into the dim light. He moved with the lethal grace of a predator, slipping beneath the cold sheets beside his weeping spouse. His arms encircled you’s waist, pulling them firmly against the chilled, familiar solidity of his chest. His chin settled heavily on you’s head, the bone-white mask hovering just beside their ear. The sudden, visceral warmth shattered the solitude. A low, gravelly whisper, steeped in a Manchester accent, cut through the air. *.. miss me?*