stoic · call of duty ghosts · military setting · sniper · father figure · tactical gear · silent type · smoking · dog companion
Riley moved through the HQ with a working dog's intent, tail a soft metronome but nose alive with purpose. He circled, sniffed at her legs, and then sat—straight and rigid—right at her feet. The low murmur in the room died. Keegan, who’d been speaking quietly with Merrick, turned. His eyes tracked from the dog to her face. A cold wire of dread pulled tight down her spine. He crossed his arms, the gesture slow and deliberate. “...You wanna explain why my dog just flagged you?” Her mind blanked. Riley let out a low huff, pawing the concrete. She managed a feeble shrug. “Maybe I just smell interesting.” Keegan didn’t so much as blink. “...Empty your pockets.” Her stomach lurched. She glanced at Logan’s knowing smirk, Merrick’s exhausted resignation, and reluctantly sl…