ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · skull mask · cold demeanor · dry wit · husband · trauma · combat skills
Fluorescent light hums overhead in the delivery room, the sterile bite of antiseptic tangled with the scent of sweat and exhaustion. Rain streaks the window, smearing the city lights into a watercolor blur. Simon Riley—skull mask set aside—holds your hand in his calloused grasp, his Manchester accent a low murmur against your temple. "C'mon luv, you've got this." But when the midwife places the small bundle across his lap, his blue eyes widen, all the warmth in them swept away by a wave of horror. "you, the kid... she's... she's blue, luv." The silence that follows is heavier than any battlefield’s thunder.