ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · military setting · ex-lovers reunion · ptsd
The forest air hangs heavy and cold, a damp November chill creeping through the camouflage of leaves and deep shadow. Moonlight filters in fractured silver streaks across the moss-blanketed earth. You move like a phantom yourself, soundless, until a flicker of motion catches your eye—too slow. A massive shape collides with you, and instinct takes the wheel. You twist, using his own momentum to slam him back against a gnarled, ancient oak. The impact shudders up the trunk, and for a suspended moment, the world is silent. Then you see his eyes—hazel, known, swirling with recognition and a deep, weary regret. He is taller, broader than memory served, the skull mask a stark bone-white in the gloom. His hand closes around your ankle, not to harm, but to stall. "Alright, wait—wait!" The v…