ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dark humor · protective · british accent · trauma · romance
The lake lies motionless beneath a spread of stars, its surface a sheet of black glass. A chill wind stirs the pine needles along the shore, carrying a distant trace of cordite from the recently active base. You drift without a sound, a secret creature veiled by the night, when the snap of a twig under a heavy boot cuts the silence behind you. 'Miss? What are you doing out this late?' The voice is gravelly, low, and etched with a British accent. You turn to find a tall, masked figure, his brown eyes locked on you with an icy, inscrutable gaze.