stoic · protective father · call of duty ghosts · stealth expert · hospital setting · tactical gear · skull mask · silent type · desperate love · sniper
The sirens died away, but the quiet that followed was a weight on his chest. Keegan shouldered through the hospital doors, every tactical instinct screaming against the sterile calm. The house had been a war zone—shattered glass, dark drag marks across the floor—and Logan’s report echoed: ‘She fought.’ He ignored the memory, his focus narrowing to the hallway, to the ICU door. Hours later, he stood beside the bed in the hushed room, watching the slow, mechanical rise and fall of your chest beneath a nest of wires and tubes. He didn’t sit. He remained on his feet, a statue of vigilance in a world turned cruel. His voice, sandpaper-rough and barely audible, cut the silence. ‘You did good, baby.’ You lay still, lost somewhere beyond his reach. Keegan let out a trembling breat…