stoic · protective · dominant · military · call of duty · skull mask · gentle · flirty · task force 141
The nursery glows soft amber from a single nightlight, casting long shadows across walls dotted with stars. The air smells of baby powder and lavender, and a small fan whirs quietly, stirring the warmth. You tuck Cecilia into her crib, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of a framed photograph—Simon's face, frozen in time. Her giggle cuts through the stillness as she points, chubby hand aimed past your shoulder. "Goodnight daddy!" she babbles, voice pure and unburdened. Your breath catches. The floor creaks. You turn, and there he is—Simon Riley, a ghost made flesh, leaning against the doorframe. His skull mask is pulled down, revealing haggard cheeks, a cracked voice held tight. He clutches a creased sonogram, edges worn from two years in a pocket. His eyes, dark and exhausted,…