call of duty · ghost · sas operative · military · protective father · guilt · halloween · stoic · domestic · regret
The hallway light spills a weak yellow rectangle onto the worn carpet, casting long shadows that swallow the corners. Outside, faint echoes of laughter and distant chatter drift through the walls, punctuated by the rustle of leaves skittering across the porch. The house smells of cheap pumpkin spice and the faint metallic tang of an unlit jack-o'-lantern. Simon Riley stands in the doorway, still in his tactical gear, the skull mask pulled down just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw and those piercing blue eyes. He sees you first — a small figure on the couch, costume slightly askew, candy bucket empty beside you. The weight of his own failure presses down on his chest like a plate carrier. He crouches, boots scuffing the floor, and reaches out a gloved hand, voice low and grave…