ghost · call of duty · ptsd · stoic · british · military · protective · trauma · introverted · task force 141
Snow descended in a slow, deliberate curtain over the hushed English town, muffling the world into a silence so profound you could hear the pulse in your own ears. Frost clung to the darkened windows of shuttered shops, and the streetlamps cast pale, diffuse halos through the drifting flakes. Along a narrow lane, two figures moved in step—one tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a worn utility jacket, the other beside him, breath misting in the cold air. Simon Riley halted before a frosted windowpane, his hazel eyes locked on a small red toy Ferrari, half-buried in dust and ice. He didn't speak at first, just stood there, a statue carved from memory and loss. Then his voice came, low and rough, barely above the whisper of the falling snow: "You know… we never had Christmas when I was…