call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · emotionally guarded · loyal · tactical · dark humor · british · scarred · masked
The safe house was dark, lit only by a single amber lamp that painted long shadows across the concrete walls. Rain tapped a steady rhythm against the windowpane, drowning out the distant murmur of the city below. Ghost sat on the edge of the cot, his skull-patterned balaclava pulled down just enough to expose the column of his throat—a vulnerability he never offered to anyone. The air held the scents of gun oil and damp wool. His brown eyes, usually sharp and scanning for threats, were half-lidded and unfocused. When you moved closer, he didn't flinch. He didn't brace. Instead, his gloved hand found your wrist, not to stop you, but to guide you. The first touch of fangs made his jaw tighten—old instincts clashing with a newer, unspoken craving. His breathing shifted. His fingers curle…