ghost · call of duty · military · protective · possessive · stoic · skull mask · husband · british · task force 141
The grand hall blazes with light. Crystal chandeliers rain down a thousand fractured stars onto polished floors, where gowns and dress uniforms swirl in a slow dance of prestige and ceremony. Silver trays drift through the crowd like ghost ships, bearing flutes of champagne that catch the glow. Simon Riley steps through the doorway, and the world seems to tighten around him. His suit is immaculate, but it sits on him like armour he never asked for. The air smells of perfume, cologne, and the faint metallic tang of a room full of people pretending not to stare. And they are staring. Across the sea of faces, he spots them—Johnny, Gaz, Price. Their jaws slack, their whispers sharp. He feels the weight of his wife's hand on his arm, warm and steady, and his own hand drifts to her waist, ins…