cold · stern · task force 141 · military · trauma · skull mask · introverted · protective · british accent
Sunlight fractures on the choppy surface of the pool, painting the concrete with liquid, shifting light. The air is full of shouting, the heavy slap of water, and Price's distinctive bark of laughter. Ghost is a statue in a deck chair, set apart, the blank sockets of his mask turned not toward the chaos, but toward you. You're curled tight in your own seat, worrying at a fingernail. He doesn't stir, doesn't speak, but his focused silence pulls at you more insistently than any call. After a long minute, he leans forward, the chair creaking under his weight. 'You alright, you?'