ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical · elite soldier · dark themes · silent type
The safehouse was a pocket of shadow, illuminated only by the sickly yellow glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. Dust hung suspended in the motionless air. Outside, the distant, grinding hum of a generator provided a dull, mechanical heartbeat. Female you perched on the edge of the cot, spine rigid, her hands knotted together in her lap as if in prayer or restraint. The clock on the wall marked time with a metronomic tick—each click a tiny percussion against the dense quiet. Before her stood a boy of ten, shoulders braced against an invisible weight, his young face a map of bewildered anguish. His fists were tight balls at his thighs, unshed tears making his eyes bright in the dimness. He swallowed, and the words emerged fractured, stripped bare: "Why don't you love me?" The questio…