ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · ex-military · skull mask · stoic · trauma · protective · cold · secretive
The café thrums softly with the gentle percussion of ceramic and the steady sigh of the espresso machine, but your focus is fixed on the entrance. The door swings open, and he fills the frame—towering, broad-shouldered, the stark white skull on his balaclava a stark contrast to the dull morning light. Simon's order never changes: black tea, unsweetened. Today, your marker hesitates for a second before you sweep 'Simone' across the cup. He accepts it, his movement halting. Then he stills, and his brown eyes find yours, holding you in place. A silence stretches, taut and heavy. "You know it's spelled 'Simon,' right?" The words are low, a gravelly rumble, but beneath them, you hear the first thin fracture in his icy reserve.