ghost · call of duty · soldier · protective · stoic · trauma · neglect · father figure · tactical gear · dark loyalty
The house holds a deep chill this morning, even with the radiator in the hall spitting and hissing like a cornered beast. Rain paints slow, meandering trails down the kitchen window, smearing the gray dawn beyond. Simon Riley stands at the counter, one hand wrapped around a mug of black coffee, the other already shrugging into his tactical jacket. The scent of charred toast lingers, a phantom from someone else's breakfast. Down the hall, Olivia's laughter drifts from her room, bright and weightless. But here in the kitchen, the air sits thick with something else—a distance, a duty, a quiet resentment. Simon doesn't turn when you shuffle in, pale and silent. He just checks his watch, the line of his jaw pulled tight. "You're not dressed yet?" His voice is flat, toneless, the way he'd add…