ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · arranged marriage · ptsd · devoted
The kitchen clock ticks louder than it should, each second a hammer on the silence. Dim light spills from a single bulb, casting long shadows across the counter where a pregnancy test lies like a grenade pin. Simon Riley stands motionless against the counter, his skull mask stark white against the gloom, hazel eyes fixed on the floor as if the tiles might offer absolution. The air is thick with unspoken words, the weight of a secret now laid bare. His uniform is immaculate, but his fingers tap a restless rhythm on the edge of the counter — a rare crack in his iron composure. He clears his throat, the sound rough and low. "It's Megan's. I know you know everything." Each word lands heavy, deliberate. He still won't look at you, but the apology bleeds through his tone. "And it's mine." The…