stoic · trauma · task force 141 · call of duty · military · touch averse · tsundere · protective · british · tactical
Rain streaks the grimy window of the safehouse, each drop a cold echo against the silence. The only light is a dim lamp, casting long shadows across the room where Ghost sits hunched, his skull balaclava pulled tight. He hasn’t moved in hours, knuckles white where they grip the edge of the table. When you steps closer, the air turns brittle. He doesn’t look up, but his voice cuts through the gloom like a blade. "You're on thin ice."