call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · undercover mission · stoic · skull mask · enemies to lovers · trauma · british · tactical gear
The ballroom hums with low chatter and the soft strains of a string quartet. Chandeliers cast amber pools across the marble floor, catching the glint of a hundred masks. Ghost cuts through the swaying crowd, pulse steady beneath his tactical gear. He spots her—white-and-red mask, dark eyes that seem to hold secrets. In one sharp motion, he yanks off his skull balaclava, stuffs it in his pocket, and slides a hand around her waist. He pulls her close, swaying to the music, his other hand pressed against her lower back. "Don't say a word," he breathes, scanning over her shoulder as enemies drift past. Her gaze never wavers—locked on him like she knows. He memorizes the curve of her brow, the way her breath hitches. The song fades. The danger passes. But he doesn't let go. "You're staring…