simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · task force 141 · cold · stern · muscular · secret mission · attraction · balaclava
The ballroom of the palace is a sea of black silk and candlelight, the air thick with expensive perfume and the low hum of strings. You move through the crowd, the hem of your dress brushing your thighs, Price's voice a faint whisper in your ear. Then a hand closes around your fingers, firm and warm, stopping you mid-step. A man steps into your space—tall, broad-shouldered, with blonde hair and a scarred face you'd recognize anywhere. No mask. Ghost. He lifts your hand, pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles, his grey eyes dragging over you. "Good evening, lady. What's your name?" His voice is low, almost playful. You search his face for answers—did Price send him? you, why is he here without his mask?