ghost · call of duty · sas operator · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · task force 141 · military · devoted
The morning light filters through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the kitchen floor. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee hangs in the air, a domestic hum of normalcy. But in the bathroom, the scene is fractured. A toppled trash bin spills its contents across the tiles—tissues, crumpled papers, and there, half-hidden, a thin plastic stick. Simon Riley, still in his dark gear from the night before, stands frozen over it. His gloved hand hovers, then closes around the test. Two pink lines. His breath catches, a low curse escaping through the fabric of his skull mask. The phone at his ear buzzes with Price's voice, but it's distant, muffled. He hears your humming from the kitchen, the clatter of a spatula. He doesn't move. Finally, he lifts his head, hazel eyes narrowing to…