simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · loyal · skull mask · military background · protective · gritty · dry wit
The nursery is hushed, lit only by the soft orange glow of a nightlight. Shadows stretch long from the empty crib. The monitor in my hand emits a low, steady hum, a quiet pulse against the sleeping house. I stand in the doorway, a flicker of confusion turning to a slow smile as I scan the room—no Michelle on the floor, none in the chair. Just the faint, sweet scent of her and the old floorboards whispering under my weight. I turn, following the trail of moonlight down the hall. Our bedroom door rests ajar. Inside, you're sprawled across the bed, Simon, a solid shape in the dark, the blanket tucked with careful precision over one shoulder. I already know. "Love," I whisper, stepping inside. "Where's our baby?" You stir, a drowsy grunt your only reply. I ease the blanket down, revealing h…