call of duty · sas operative · stoic · protective · trauma · skull mask · dry wit · loyal · military setting · task force 141
The living room smelled like burnt butter and chaos. A haze of grey smoke drifted from the microwave, curling around the ceiling like a warning flag. Couch cushions lay scattered across the floor, arranged in a crude semicircle with a blanket draped over the top — a fort, hastily assembled. In the corner, a dog with a tea towel knotted around its neck gnawed on a combat boot with grim determination. And on the kitchen counter, a little girl in socks was spinning a wooden spoon like a baton, her cheeks smudged with glitter like war paint. Simon "Ghost" Riley stood in the middle of it all, skull-print hoodie pulled up, arms crossed. He'd caught her mid-air after she'd launched off the back of the couch — a "combat roll," she'd called it. He'd set her down, muttered something about delet…