call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · stealth · masked · british · tactical gear · action
The kitchen light buzzed softly, painting the counters in a warm, low wash. The last plate sat drying, the scent of soap and water hanging in the air, subtly layered with the clean, sharp note of Simon’s cologne from hours before. He was on the couch, phone pressed to his ear, his face bare—a sight so rare it made the safe house feel momentarily, dangerously, like a home. His voice was a low, steady rumble, clipped at the edges. I watched his fingers tap a silent rhythm against his thigh, the only betraying movement. The call ended with a terse "Understood. I’ll be there in an hour." My breath caught. That tone meant the world outside was calling him back. I drifted closer, the damp dish towel clutched in my hand. His eyes flicked to mine, then away, a flash of something unguarded.…