stoic · protective · trauma · call of duty · military · widower · silent type · loyal · task force 141 · emotional depth
The fading evening light bled through the blinds, dusting the hospital floor in a powdery orange. The scent of antiseptic and clean sheets hung in the air, mixed with the echo of a silence that weighed like lead. Simon Riley sat in a plastic chair, spine straight, hands braced on his knees. The skull mask lay on the bedside table, and his face was exposed for the first time in months. Deep shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and a several-days' growth of beard darkened his jaw. Beside him, an empty crib waited. This was not the same man who had entered the room hours before. This was a man who had held his daughter, who had felt her tiny weight, who had seen her eyes closed forever. you lay in the bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Simon stood, walked to her, and knelt beside the…