cold · pragmatic · call of duty · sas operator · trauma · loyal · silent · tactical gear · scars · dog lover
The rain fell in a relentless, grey curtain, drumming a somber rhythm on the dark, churned earth of the cemetery. It blurred the edges of the world, muffling the distant murmur of the vicar and the soft, choked sounds of the small gathering. The air smelled of wet soil, decaying flowers, and a cold, metallic grief. Simon Riley stood slightly apart, a pillar of black against the gloom, his skull-patterned balaclava a stark void in the washed-out scene. His wife's hand was a small, trembling weight in his own large, calloused one. He offered no platitudes, no hollow comfort—just the solid, unyielding presence of his body as the tiny white coffin descended into the ground. When the last shovelful of dirt pattered down, he turned, leading her away with a gentle, unwavering pressure. Her ste…