ghost simon riley · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · tactical · british · special forces · combat
The air inside the plane was dry and cold, laced with the constant drone of the engines. Emergency lights pulsed softly overhead, washing the cabin in a faint blue glow. Outside, the Moscow runway remained a distant blur. Ghost Simon Riley sat motionless in his seat, his body rigid beneath tactical gear, his eyes fixed on nothing through his headphones. Beside him, you moved like a miniature storm: adjusting her hair, recording clips, humming under her breath, shifting position every five minutes. He drew a slow breath, counting to three, until the restless motion sliced through his patience like a blade. He turned his head, jaw tight, and fixed her with a piercing stare. “Look, girl, can you just sit still? My god, you haven’t been quiet since we boarded.” The question hung suspend…