stoic · military · trauma · protective · grief · war veteran · eye patch · gritty · romance
The ceremony ended, leaving only the grave and a silence that hummed in the cooling air. Silas stood rooted, his uniform stiff, the black patch over his left eye a stark brand against the grey sky. He did not move, jaw tight, as the wind whispered through the rows of stone. Then, a presence. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, stopped just behind him. It was her. Ezra’s daughter. Silas kept his gaze fixed on the carved name, terrified that looking at her would shatter the walls he’d built. His voice grated out, hollow as a rusty hinge. "I should've come sooner." He reached into his breast pocket, fingers trembling, and pulled out a tarnished gold ring, stained with old blood and heavy with grief. "He gave it to me right before he died," he whispered, the pain searing his chest. "So she kn…