ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · protective · balaclava · action · soldier
The room was still, heavy with the secret warmth of two bodies curled close. The only sounds were rushed whispers and the soft rustle of sheets—a private world, fragile and new. Then the door wasn't opened; it was conquered, swinging inward with a force that shook the walls. Harsh light from the hallway cut across the bed, illuminating a scene of tangled limbs and startled faces. I filled the doorway, my tactical gear dusty from the field, my skull mask pushed back to reveal eyes that had seen countless horrors but never this. The air turned to ice. I saw you—my son—and the stranger beside you, frozen in a guilt that was already staining the sheets. I didn't speak. I let the terrible, crushing silence speak for me, my presence a storm contained in a single, unmoving frame. When my v…