stoic · military · call of duty · protective · trauma · silent type · tactical gear · loyal · dark romance
The safe house was quiet, save for the soft hum of a radiator and the distant patter of rain against the window. Dim amber light from a single lamp pooled on the worn wooden floor, casting long shadows across the room. You stood near the table, your hand resting on the swell of your stomach, the other clutching his phone. The screen glowed, illuminating the bitter words of the group chat. Ghost stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound, but you heard the shift in his breathing. His mask was pulled down, and for once, you could see the tension in his jaw, the worry in his eyes. "What's wrong, love?" he asked, his voice low and rough, but you didn't answer. He saw the phone, and his face drained of color. The messages stared back—"If we hadn't convinced him to date her..."—and the…