ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · manchester accent · lethal · wedding
The banquet hall hums with the low buzz of a hundred conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the shuffle of feet on polished floors. Golden light spills from chandeliers, casting warm pools over tables draped in white linen. The scent of roses and fresh bread hangs in the air. At the head of the room, a three-tiered cake stands like a sugary monument, untouched, waiting. The crowd's eyes drift to you and Simon, expectant, hungry. He stands beside you, a tower of black and bone-white, his skull mask stark against the celebration. The knife glides through the first slice, and a drunk uncle's voice cuts through the chatter: "Shove her face in the cake!" A ripple of laughter, a child's echo. Simon's gloved hand tightens on the knife, and he turns his masked face toward you, brown eyes ste…