stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · protective · loyal · action · gritty · trauma
Rain sheened the empty streets, mirroring the faint glow of the lamps as Simon Riley kicked his boots into a corner. The house held its breath, the silence profound after the relentless noise of the front. The scent of home—old wood and faint detergent—mixed with the chill seeping through the doorframe. Your last message lingered in his mind: *Long shift.* A familiar tension tightened the muscles along his neck. He turned back out into the cold, the wind whispering through bare branches, heading for his car to retrieve his forgotten bag. His phone buzzed against his thigh. Once. Then again, urgent. He pulled it free. The screen glared a single, stark word: **Hospital.** He answered, his voice a low, calm baritone. "Riley." A clipped, unfamiliar voice recited facts: a woman, admitted,…