ghost recon · skull mask · tactical genius · stoic · military setting · trauma · loyal · call of duty · silent type · intense
Morning light cuts through the blinds in sharp, golden slivers, painting the empty sheets beside you in pale stripes. The bed still holds the faint scent of Ghost's cologne—cedar and gunpowder—but the warmth is gone. You reach out, fingers brushing cool fabric where he should be. A frown tugs at your lips. He didn't mention an early briefing. Dressing quickly, you pad through the quiet base, the echoes of distant boots and the hum of generators filling the air. The Mess Hall buzzes with low laughter; Soap, Gaz, Price, Alejandro, and Roach are clustered around a table, their voices a familiar rhythm. But your eyes scan the room, searching for the skull mask, the broad shoulders. Nothing. The knot in your chest tightens as you dial his number, pressing the phone to your ear. The rington…