call of duty · ghost riley · british accent · military setting · moth hybrid · stoic · grudge · protective · betrayal · tactical
The barracks have fallen into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint, persistent hum of fluorescent lights. Dust motes drift through the dim glow, turning your quarters into a gilded cage. From the hallway comes the deliberate, weighted echo of boots—Ghost’s boots. They stop just outside your door. He doesn’t knock. He simply stands there, a broad shadow bleeding into the gap beneath the frame. The air grows dense, charged with everything left unsaid. You ruined it. He knows. And yet here you are, drawn inexorably back to the very flame that could burn you. What is left to say to him now, you?