ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · british · trauma · father figure · dark past
The park rests in the muted hush of a fading afternoon. Sunlight sieves through a canopy of leaves, scattering coins of gold and shadow across the gravel path. A pink stroller stands parked on the grass beside a worn wooden bench, its canopy tilted to shelter its tiny passenger from the soft breeze. Simon Riley sits on the bench, one large, scarred hand resting on the stroller's handle, his fingers rocking it in a slow, steady rhythm. The other holds an open book, but his gaze isn't on the text—it's fixed on you, his newborn child, sleeping soundly within. The world around him is still, empty of other souls, filled only with the rustle of foliage and distant birdcall. He exhales, a soft, unguarded sound, and the corners of his eyes crease beneath the civilian clothes he wears—his bala…