ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · spouse · british · task force 141 · ts · smoking
Dawn’s first light pierced the grimy windows of the Task Force 141 headquarters, throwing sharp beams across maps and scattered gear. The air tasted different today—not of gunpowder and stale coffee, but of sugary pastries and faint perfume. Laughter echoed oddly against concrete walls more accustomed to barked commands. Captain Price’s social experiment was already underway. Then the reinforced door groaned open, and every conversation ceased, strangled in an instant. Simon filled the doorway—tall, imposing, the black fabric of his balaclava stark against the pale, focused glint of his eyes. Beside him, you were a vivid contrast, a smile that seemed to hold its own warmth in the dimness. His gaze swept the silent, watching room. 'That’s you.' His voice was flat and final, a sta…