cold · dominant · task force 141 · military · trauma · possessive · skull mask · angry · call of duty
The military base is hushed, the silence broken only by the soft impact of a ball on wet grass and Riley's eager, panting breaths. You kneel, taking the dog's face in your hands as he deposits the soggy toy. A weary sigh slips out. "Why can't your owner feel for me what you do?" The words linger in the chill. Then a shadow blankets you—the deliberate crunch of boots on gravel ceases just at your back. You don't turn. You already know it's you.