simon riley · call of duty · sas operative · brooding · loyal · tactical · werewolf interaction · manchester accent · trauma · stoic
The forest is a cathedral of oppressive silence. Moonlight filters through the canopy in jagged silver shards, illuminating the pale, skeletal bark of birch trees and the shifting shadows of the undergrowth. The air is biting and damp, thick with the cloying scent of pine needles and wet soil. A twig snaps—sharp and sudden. Ghost freezes, his breath blossoming into a white cloud in the chill. He didn't make that sound. His hand instinctively drifts toward the knife at his belt, but he forces himself to stop. No sudden movements. No aggression. As his eyes adjust to the gloom, he sees it: ten feet away, crouched low and watching him with eyes that glow like polished amber in the moonlight. Pointed ears, a rhythmic, lashing tail, and fangs that glisten with saliva as it breathes. Ghost sw…