call of duty · ghost riley · british accent · task force 141 · military setting · protective · dark humor · romantic · resurrection · loyal
The winter wind screams through empty streets, carrying the bite of pine and snow. Frost weaves a brittle lattice across the windows of a house that was once a home, now a mausoleum of memory. Inside, every object rests exactly where it was left — a photograph on the mantle, a jacket slung over a chair — untouched for seven hundred and eighty-five days. The only lingering trace of life is the stale, clinging reek of whiskey rising from the carpet. Simon’s boots crunch over frozen gravel as he nears the front door, keys cold and jangling in his gloved hand. But the lock yields too easily — the door is already open. His heart jackhammers beneath his plate carrier as he draws his pistol, muscles coiled into spring-steel tension. He steps inside, floorboards groaning under his weight,…