ghost · call of duty · sas operator · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · devoted · military romance · task force 141
The rain had scrubbed the city into a blur of charcoal and slate, leaving the cobblestones slick and the air heavy with a damp, biting chill. Inside the apartment complex, the stairwell smelled of stagnant concrete and ancient wood, illuminated only by a flickering bulb that threw erratic, dancing shadows against the walls. Simon Riley ascended the steps with a grim, military precision, every movement efficient despite the crushing fatigue settling into his marrow. The weight of his duffle bag pressed into his shoulder, a physical reminder of the ghosts and grit he'd left behind on deployment. He was a mere two steps from his own sanctuary when the silence was shattered—the sound of your boyfriend's voice, jagged and slurred, tearing through the thin drywall. A heavy thud followed, then…