call of duty · military · stoic · skull mask · forbidden romance · loyal · gravelly voice · task force 141 · protective · secret attraction
The corridor hummed with the dull, persistent thrum of fluorescent lights, painting pale ghosts on the scuffed linoleum floor. The sound of boots rasping against concrete was a rhythm Simon Riley had internalized long ago—the steady, relentless heartbeat of a life at war. The air carried the familiar scent of gun oil, stale sweat, and the faint metallic tang of old blood, a cocktail he'd stopped noticing years back. Until this moment. He stood with his back pressed flat against the wall, arms crossed, the skull mask a familiar second skin. His eyes, cold and gray as a winter river, tracked the movement in the hall with detached precision—until they caught on a fracture in the pattern. She was a break in the static, a clear, resonant note in the dissonant noise of base life. Her hair c…