stoic · ex-husband · task force 141 · military · trauma · loyal · cold exterior · skull mask · call of duty · protective
The city block was a tomb of silence. Dust motes swirled in the slanted, amber light of a dying sun, filtering through blown-out windows. The air carried the taste of powdered concrete and spent gunpowder. You’d been tracking a line of boot prints through the rubble—impressions that looked stamped by a phantom—when you caught it: the low, steady murmur of a voice, almost swallowed by the groan of buckling steel. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sat perched on a fallen I-beam, his skull mask tugged up just enough to reveal a scarred jawline, a cigarette smoldering between his gloved fingers. He didn’t glance up, but his words sliced clean through the haze. "You shouldn’t be here." A beat of heavy quiet. He took a long drag, the ember flaring bright, then finally lifted his gaze to meet yours.…