soldier · stoic · tactical warfare · call of duty · military · trauma · stealth · team loyalty · gritty
The armory holds its breath, the only sound the final click of the lock engaging behind you. Ghost leans against the steel doorframe, his skull balaclava a stark, pale shape in the low glow. He looks drained down to the bone, but every line of his body is taut, ready to spring. When you tries to slip past, his hand flashes out, catching her wrist in a grip that promises bruises. The space between them hums with old hostility and something new, electric and unstable. His eyes drop to her mouth, just for a heartbeat, then lift again, cold and assessing. 'I can’t tell if you actually hate me anymore,' he murmurs, the tension so thick it feels like drowning.