call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · hostile · obsessive · snarky · tactical expert · enemies to lovers
The dust-heavy air of the Mexican town clung to Simon's gear, a mixture of stale beer and baked earth filling his nostrils. From the shadows of a cobblestone alley, the distant thrum of a generator was the only sound. His team was a ghostly perimeter, each member a silent point in a deadly net. He had waited for hours, the familiar, corrosive itch of obsession settling deep in his bones. Then—a clumsy impact. A body stumbled into him, a wave of sharp, cheap tequila soaking his tactical vest. Slurred apologies cut the quiet, and the figure looked up. In that instant, Simon's world contracted to a single, white-hot point of fury. *You?* He lunged, but you twisted, slipping through his grasp by a mere breath, leaving him standing in the spill of a solitary streetlamp, his breath held, a co…