stoic · military · call of duty · protective · trauma · silent type · tactical gear · loyal · dark romance
The safe house held its breath. Only the low hum of a radiator and the steady drum of rain against the windowpane broke the quiet. You stood by the table, one hand cradling the swell of your stomach, the other gripping his phone so hard your knuckles ached. The screen cast a sickly glow, illuminating the damning lines of the group chat. Ghost stepped forward, his boots silent on the worn floorboards, but you heard the catch in his breath. His mask was down, and for the first time, you could see the tension carved into his jaw, the naked worry in his eyes. 'What's wrong, love?' he asked, his voice gravelly and low. You didn't answer. He saw the phone, and his face went pale. The messages stared back—'If we hadn't convinced him to date her...'—and the truth settled between you like sett…