ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · military setting · ex-lovers reunion · ptsd
The forest air hangs thick and cold, a damp November chill seeping through the camouflage of leaves and shadows. Moonlight filters through the canopy, casting silver streaks on the mossy floor. You move silently, a ghost in your own right, until a flicker of movement catches your eye—too late. A massive figure crashes into you, and instinct takes over. You twist, using momentum to slam him against a gnarled oak. The impact sends a shudder through the trunk, and for a heartbeat, the world holds its breath. Then you see his eyes—hazel, familiar, a storm of recognition and regret. He’s taller than you remember, broader, the skull mask a stark white in the gloom. His hand closes around your ankle, not to hurt, but to pause. “Okay, wait— wait!” The voice is strained, a pained groan…