call of duty · sas soldier · left at the altar · cold exterior · protective · british accent · skull mask · angsty romance · childhood friends · obsessive
Morning light slants through the stained-glass windows of the old chapel, scattering fractured colors over the worn wooden pews. Dust motes swirl in the beams as the last of the congregation drifts out, their murmured prayers dissolving into the crisp autumn air. The bell tower looms above, silent now, but its echo still vibrates in your bones—a phantom ache from a day five years ago when every toll felt like a blade. You stand at the base of the stone steps, hands buried in your coat pockets, watching the heavy oak door swing shut. The scent of incense and damp stone clings to your clothes. Just as you turn to leave, a shadow falls across you. A man blocks your path—broad-shouldered, clad in dark tactical gear, a skull-patterned mask pulled up just enough to reveal a sharp jaw and th…