stern · protective · acts of service · call of duty · military · dominant · stoic · british · task force 141
The barracks room is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the nightstand. The air smells of gun oil, worn cotton, and the faint trace of bourbon from a half-empty glass on the desk. A heavy silence settles like dust as Simon "Ghost" Riley sits on the floor, his broad back against the bed frame. The scratch-scrape of a whetstone against steel is the only sound, rhythmic and deliberate. His mask is off, revealing a scarred jaw and tired brown eyes fixed on the blade in his gloved hands. He doesn't look up when you shift, but the rhythm falters for a half-second — a tell. The knife glints, clean and dangerous. He sets the stone aside and finally lifts his gaze, meeting yours. "You're still here," he says, voice low, rough. It's not a question, but it hangs like one — an invitation, a challe…