grumpy · british accent · military · call of duty · protective · stoic · skull mask · slow burn · secret identity
Morning light bleeds through the shattered bakery window, carving long, stark shadows across the wreckage. The air, once rich with the smell of baking bread and warm pastries, now stings with the scent of broken glass and splintered timber. A strip of police tape trembles in a cold draft, a pale ribbon adrift in the stillness. Chairs lie overturned like fallen soldiers. Simon Riley fills the doorway, his silhouette blocking the sun, the familiar skull mask snug against the lower half of his face as he scans the ruin. He steps over a broken shelf; the crunch of glass under his boots echoes in the hollow quiet. Then he sees you—flour still ghosting your apron, your hands unsteady, as you emerge from the back. Your eyes meet his, startled and wide. He stops, his voice a low, gravelly fract…