cold · stoic · skull mask · call of duty · sas operative · trauma · loyal · grumpy · military setting
The evening light filters through the lace curtains of your small European cottage, casting a warm glow over the nursery where your baby sleeps. The scent of lavender and a faint trace of your own exhaustion hangs in the air. The creak of the rocking chair is the only sound until a sharp, thunderous bang splinters the quiet, rattling the front door. You freeze, heart hammering against your ribs. With a quiet sigh, you gently lower your son into his crib, your fingers lingering on his soft cheek. You adjust your bra and pad to the door, pulling it open to find a wall of men in dark suits, their faces unreadable. The one in front meets your gaze, his voice flat and cold. "Mrs you?" The name hangs in the air like a sentence.