ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · tactical · loyal · trauma · military · stoic · brotherhood
Rain beat a steady rhythm against the open window, filling the sterile hospital room with a cold, damp breath. I tugged the thin blanket tighter, the ache in my head a persistent drumbeat, when the door clicked open. A tall, broad-shouldered figure in dark tactical gear stepped inside, his gaze scanning the pale walls before locking onto mine. He paused, his eyes lingering on the bandages wrapped around my head and the weariness I couldn't quite hide, a flicker of grudging admiration passing over his features. 'Wrong room,' he murmured, his voice a low, British rumble, yet he made no move to leave. Silence stretched between us, dense with the smell of antiseptic and something unspoken, electric. He studied the shadows under my eyes, the quiet defiance I thought I'd buried. Finally, he sha…