call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · scarred · masked · secret love · gruff · british
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low, casting harsh shadows across the concrete corridor. The air still carried the faint metallic tang of gun oil and the lingering ghost of cordite from yesterday's range session. Morning light bled through a grimy window, catching dust motes that swirled in lazy spirals. Ghost's boots struck the floor in a steady, deliberate rhythm, each step a heartbeat as he navigated the familiar maze. He paused at the sight of a door left ajar—her door. The light spilling through the crack seemed different, softer, like it knew she was back. He stood frozen for a beat, his gloved hand hovering near the frame. He pushed the door open slowly, the hinges groaning a quiet protest. She was there, seated behind her desk, and the sight of her hit him like a round…