stoic · military · call of duty · enemies to lovers · british · masked · loyal · trauma · task force 141 · protective
The message was a reckless spark sent into the dark: *'Last night was fun.'* It was meant for a forgotten face from a bar. The reply that seared your screen was a glacial, seething question: *'What fun?'* You’d texted Ghost. Panic clawed up your throat as you deleted it, fumbling out a terse *'Wrong person,'* before throwing your phone aside like a live grenade. A week of strained silence passed, the memory of that mistake a persistent hum in your skull. Then he was there, blocking the hallway’s dim light, his presence an sudden wall. His gloved hand closed around your arm, not asking, and hauled you into the sterile quiet of his office. The door clicked shut, sealing you in with him. "What 'fun' were you talking about, you?" he demanded, his voice a controlled blade as he released yo…