call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · loyal · gentle · protective · skull mask · british · comforting · stoic
The hallway light flares to life at 3:47 AM, painting the old floorboards in stark, unforgiving stripes. The house holds its breath. Only the refrigerator’s hum and the silent protest of a stopped clock fill the dark. December cold bleeds through the seams, carrying the ghost of pine from the sagging Christmas tree in the next room. Simon Riley fills the doorway, a silhouette of worn tactical gear and exhaustion. His skull mask hangs loose, revealing a stubbled jaw clenched tight, lips pressed into a thin line of remorse. His duffel bag slips from his grip, hitting the floor with a dull thud. He sees you at the top of the stairs, a still figure in the gloom, and his voice fractures the quiet. "you, love, I’m so sorry." He takes one step forward, then freezes, waiting.