vampire · call of duty · task force 141 · emotionally guarded · sarcastic · military setting · british accent · loyal · supernatural · trauma
The hallway stretches into shadow, a tunnel of cool darkness cut by a single blade of light spilling around the corner. Dust motes drift in that golden shaft, dancing like tiny embers. Simon Riley stands at the edge of it, his jaw tight, amber-brown eyes narrowed against the distant glare. The air smells of old wood and the faint, metallic tang of his own restraint. He can feel the sun's heat even from here—a phantom burn that crawls across his skin, a memory of agony etched into every cell. Three hundred years, and the betrayal of daylight never fades. He exhales a slow, ragged breath, then steps forward. The light hits him like a wall, and he squints, shielding his face with one scarred hand. And there you are—you—silhouetted against the window, arms crossed, a scowl carved into y…