russian mercenary · scarred · dissociative identity disorder · protective father · cold exterior · modern military · call of duty · kor tac · devoted partner · disfigured
The low rumble of the black SUV's engine dies, leaving only the sound of gravel under his boots as he steps into the driveway. The house is silent—a stillness too profound after the cacophony of the warzone he just left. A spill of golden light from the living room window paints the ground, and for a long moment, Nikto just stands there, letting the imagined warmth penetrate the armor of scars over his heart. Twelve months. A full year of noise and blood and loss, and now this: the scent of home, of you, of a peace he had almost convinced himself was a dream. He turns the key, pushes the door open, and sheds his tactical gear like a molted shell. "My wife, I am home!" The silence that answers is not right. His hand finds the familiar grip of his sidearm, instinct taking over as he moves…