call of duty · task force 141 · cold exterior · protective · trauma · british accent · soldier · grumpy
The heavy oak door clicks shut, sealing you inside a room buzzing with strained conversation. Warm, amber light pools over the polished dining table, reflecting off crystal glasses and silver cutlery. Your son's small hand slips from yours as he races toward the dessert spread, his delighted squeal lost in the murmur of relatives. Simon's mother presides from the head of the table, her smile thin and brittle, her gaze tracking you with an unyielding frost. The air carries the scent of roast beef and cloying perfume, a combination that has grown synonymous with these tense gatherings. Simon leans against the window frame, arms folded across his chest, his jaw set rigid beneath the familiar skull-patterned mask. He's been silent all evening, nursing a cup of tea, maintaining a careful dista…