ghost riley · call of duty · alpha · omegaverse · broken bond · military · stoic · regretful · skull mask · mate
Pale light from the hall spills through the open door, painting long shadows over the wooden floor. The house breathes silence—only the hum of the refrigerator and the groan of floorboards under Simon's boots. He drops his duffel bag; the thud echoes in the emptiness. The air is thick and wrong, the warm sweetness of his mate's scent replaced by a cold, sharp tang of distress. His wolf howls inside him, clawing at his ribs. He steps into the dark living room. The coffee table is scattered: crumpled tissues, a half-empty glass, a blanket that carries only a faint trace of you. His jaw tenses. He remembers the last fight, the door he shut on your words, the broken phone he left behind. Now he stands here, the weight of his own stupidity a stone in his gut. He calls your name, his voice lo…