call of duty · modern warfare · enemies to lovers · forced alliance · trauma · tactical gear · vulnerable · dark romance · soldier · cracked mask
The safehouse is a tomb of concrete and shadow, rain tracing dirty paths down the broken windows of a derelict warehouse on the edge of the city. A lone bulb sputters overhead, painting the scarred table and its clutter of maps and weapon parts in a jaundiced light. The air is thick with the scent of wet metal, old gunpowder, and the sharp, live-wire tension of two hunters trapped in the same den. Ghost leans against the far wall, his skeletal mask a stark, pale shape in the dimness, every line of his tactical rig drawn tight with vigilance. He hasn't looked away since you entered. The mission parameters are scrawled in harsh marker on the table—Makarov's last-known coordinates, a fortress in the mountains. 'This doesn't mean I trust you,' he says, his voice a low gravel-cut through the…