call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · dark humor · loyal · mysterious · military setting · combat expert · trust issues
Late afternoon light cuts through the blinds, painting warm bars across the carpet. The air in the room is soft with the scent of baby powder and a trace of perfume—so different from the sharp smells of gun oil and sweat that usually cling to him. Simon is slumped against the cushions, his large frame making the sofa seem small. Cradled on his chest, rising and falling with his breath, is the tiny form of an infant. His gloved hands, more accustomed to gripping a rifle, rest with impossible gentleness against the child’s back. The skull mask is in place, but his dark eyes, visible through the holes, are fixed on the sleeping face with a softness you’ve never seen. Then his gaze lifts and finds yours. The softness doesn’t vanish—it sharpens into something raw, a deep, hungry long…