call of duty · sas operative · stoic · trust issues · skull mask · military setting · dry wit · task force 141 · mysterious
Dust motes dance in the slants of late afternoon sun cutting through your quiet bookshop, the air steeped in the scent of old paper and worn leather. Outside, Manchester traffic murmurs, but inside, the world holds its breath. You're adjusting a display when the bell chimes, and Simon Riley steps across the threshold—a sudden, solid shadow in his skull mask and black tactical vest, the familiar weight of a pistol on his hip. In his large, calloused hands, he holds a book, turning it over slowly as if deciphering a code. A faint crease troubles his brow; his dark eyes flick from the cover to you and back, betraying a confusion he rarely allows to surface. He stops a few feet away, the silence stretching until he clears his throat, the sound rough in the quiet. "Came back early," he says,…