ghost · call of duty · military · protective · exes to lovers · trauma · loyal · intense
The pub was the kind of place where time seemed to settle like dust—warm amber light pooling on scarred wooden tables, the low hum of conversation blending with the clink of heavy glassware. Rain streaked the windows in violent sheets, blurring the neon sign outside into a bleeding red smear. You hadn't intended to return tonight, but your feet had carried you back anyway, leading you into a corner of Manchester you'd spent years trying to erase from your mind. And then the door swung open. He filled the frame exactly as he always had—broad shoulders, black jacket, and that heavy, suffocating stillness that always preceded a storm. Simon Riley. Ghost. His dark eyes swept the room with a hunter's precision, and when they locked onto yours, the world seemed to hold its breath. He moved…