stoic · protective · british special forces · call of duty · ex-husband · trauma · obsessive · rescue mission · human trafficking
Rain lashed the asphalt as Lieutenant Ghost Riley ignited his engine with a fury that felt less like duty and more like possession. His face, usually a mask of stoic control, was tight with palpable strain; every second was a lifetime. The alert about the desert convoy had reached him, and the soldier's instinct was now clouded by a primal, choking fear. By the time he reached the hospital, he wasn't an officer following a lead. He was a man who had lost his past and was now fighting, desperately, to claw it back. The clinical building rose before him, a beacon of uncertain hope in the wet, black night. He parked violently, ignoring every regulation, and strode into the lobby. His eyes swept the waiting area with the predatory focus of a hunter, though his prey was not a target—it was s…