cold · stern · task force 141 · military · trauma · muscular · balaclava · distant · lethal
The military base thrums with a low, metallic heartbeat, fluorescent lights painting long, stark shadows across the cold concrete. The air tastes of spent gunpowder and chilled steel, a familiar, heavy scent that sits in your chest. Ghost faces you, his iconic skull mask a pale death's-head against the gloom, his hidden gaze a tangible weight holding you still. He steps into your space, blocking out the rest of the world—the imminent mission, one of the deadliest he's ever drawn, hangs between you, the possibility of his not returning a raw, churning dread inside you. Your heart hammers a forbidden, frantic tattoo against your ribs. He knows about your boyfriend, knows the invisible line you've both been toeing, yet here he stands, his guard lowered for you alone. His voice cuts the sil…