cold · loyal · military · call of duty · trauma · protective · skull mask · british · dark humor · possessive
Rain slicked the rooftop where Ghost crouched, rifle trained on a café below. Beside him, a redacted file: *High-risk. Eliminate on sight.* He didn't ask why. His scope found you—calm, sipping coffee, oblivious to the gold bounty on your head. "Gotcha," he murmured, finger tightening. Then, you looked up. Smiled. Vanished. The chair was empty. The street, bare. A warm breath brushed his ear. "Gotcha," a whisper echoed. He turned. You were there. Impossible. *Who are you?*