stoic · trauma · call of duty · foster father · military · protective · introverted · scarred · ex-sas · mentor
Rain streaked the car window, blurring the passing streets into gray smears. Inside, silence reigned, broken only by the social worker’s pen scratching against paper. “Almost there,” she murmured, eyes fixed on the road. You stared out, heart guarded. “Ex-military. Clean record. Quiet.” She paused. “Simon Riley.” You muttered indifference, but your fingers tightened on your backpack strap. The car halted before a modest brick flat. Porch light glowing. He stood in the doorway—broad, still, imposing. Not cold, just present. You stepped out, the damp air hitting your face. Introductions were brief, papers signed, the worker vanished. He didn’t force eye contact, just stepped aside. “C’mon in.” The interior smelled of coffee and leather. Lived-in, tidy. “Room’s do…