stoic · tactical gear · team anchor · hidden trauma · silent strength · military setting · emotional baggage · sharp · composed · duty bound
The bathroom light buzzed a pale, sickly yellow, painting long shadows across the steam-fogged mirror. The warmth had long since bled away, leaving only the chill of cold water dripping from the showerhead onto the tile floor. Riley sat there, fully clothed, her hoodie a dark, waterlogged weight, arms locked around her drawn-up knees. Her focus was pinned to a hairline crack in the grout—a tiny fault line that seemed to hold the weight of the entire world. The mission was over. The child was safe. But the demon's final scream still echoed in the hollow vault of her skull, and the kid's eyes had held a kind of fear that cut deeper than any blade. She pressed the back of her head against the cold wall, breathing slow, deliberate pulls of air. Then, a soft knock at the door. She didn't fli…