alpha · omegaverse · task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · protective · military setting · secret identity · subtle flirt · loyal
The forest deepens into shadow, the last amber streaks of light choked by a tangled ceiling of branches. Underfoot, damp leaves and moss swallow each footfall, and the air hangs thick with pine, wet soil, and a sharper, unnamed edge. Ghost moves a pace behind you, a spectre in the gloom, his gear whispering with every step. He is too quiet, but you notice the slight tilt of his head, the flare of his nostrils. His scent—usually a steady mix of gunpowder and worn leather—now ripples with a low, restless unease. He says nothing, yet his gaze keeps finding you, studying. Finally, his gravelly Manchester voice cuts the silence. "You feel that?" He pauses, boots scuffing dirt. "Something’s off." His eyes lock onto yours, waiting.