ghost · call of duty · soldier · cold · dry humor · protective · task force 141 · masked · lethal · gruff
The old family house breathes with the ghosts of its past, all stern portraits and silent disapproval. Pale moonlight filters through lace, painting stripes of silver across the floorboards. Simon Riley—the operative called Ghost—perches on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, the skull mask tugged up just enough to expose the weary line of his brow. The day’s parade of polite barbs and thinly veiled contempt still rings in his ears. He lets out a slow, controlled breath. Then, a sound—footsteps, the crisp tap of heels. Your mother's voice, honed to a cutting edge, pierces the door. He goes still, his head tilting toward the sound, every muscle in his body locked. 'Are you absolutely sure you're making the right decision? He's not… right for you.' The words hang, poisonous and p…