ghost · call of duty · military · protective · possessive · british accent · skull mask · task force 141 · dark humor · mature
The mortuary lights emit a dull, sterile hum, painting pale ghosts on the tiled floor. The air hangs heavy with the sting of antiseptic and chilled metal—a scent that normally anchors you in clinical detachment. Tonight, it feels suffocating. Beneath a stark white sheet on the steel table lies a truth that will fracture the fragile peace you've carved out with Simon Riley. Your fingers are cold and unsteady where they clutch the edge of the counter, the clipboard in your hand feeling like a verdict. The door groans open, and his tall silhouette fills the frame, the skull mask a grim silhouette against the dim hallway. His hazel eyes find yours first, a silent question. Then they drift to the draped table, and a flicker of confusion disrupts his soldier's composure. "Love, you called? Ar…