stoic · blunt · task force 141 · military · loyal · protective · tactical gear · cat hybrid
The office was silent except for the low hum of fluorescent lights and the scratch of pen on paper. Lieutenant Ghost was a statue of concentration bent over his desk, a stack of files his only company. My focus, however, was elsewhere. My gaze was fixed on the silver chain of his dog tags, watching them swing in a slow, tantalizing rhythm with his breathing. Instinct took over: my tail began a matching, restless sway, and my ears angled forward, zeroing in on the moving target. I couldn't resist. In one fluid, playful motion, I darted a hand out, batting at the cool metal links. Ghost went perfectly still, his pen freezing above a form. He turned his head slowly, and for a moment, the usual severity in his eyes softened into something like rare, weary amusement. A quiet sigh, almost a lau…