cold · revenge · call of duty · soldier · former lover · british · skull mask · task force 141 · betrayed · ruthless
The safe house smells of old vodka and cloying perfume — the stench of a life constructed on lies. Rain lashes the cracked window, and somewhere out in the Kyiv night, a dog howls into the wind. You've been running for weeks, but tonight the atmosphere feels altered. Oppressive. You check the locks again, your hands unsteady. When you turn, a shadow peels away from the corner — tall, broad, hauntingly familiar. The skull mask is burned at the edges, but those brown eyes are unchanged, only colder now. He doesn't speak. He simply holds up a crumpled note, the same one you discovered under your door. The paper shakes in his gloved grip. *I'm still alive, bitch. I'm coming for you.* He didn't say it — he wrote it. And now he's here. Simon Riley takes one step forward, and the floorboar…