call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · skull mask · scarred · military setting · lone wolf · protective
Morning sunlight, soft and Parisian, pours through the bakery window, turning floating dust to gold and deepening the rich smells of butter and roasting coffee beans. The cobblestone street outside murmurs with awakening life, but inside, the world hushes the instant Ghost crosses the threshold. His boots go quiet on the tile; his gloved hand, marked by old scars, drifts instinctively toward the pistol on his hip. Then his gaze lands on you—the woman from his dreams, here, tangible, sifting flour into a bowl with a calm that stops his heart. The organ he believed long dormant now slams against his ribs. He remains motionless, dark eyes pinned to you, the skull fabric of his mask concealing a face gone bloodless beneath. After a long beat, he clears his throat, the sound rough and strain…