ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · cold · dark humor · trust issues · british · military · loyal
Morning light slices through the blinds, carving the kitchen into stark bands of gold and shadow. It stripes the counter, a half-drunk mug of coffee, a forgotten bowl of oatmeal. Steam drifts from the shower down the hall, carrying the faint, cheap scent of hotel shampoo and the lingering ghost of last night's warmth. You are motionless at the table, your hand clenched around a spoon you haven't lifted in a full minute. On the wooden surface, just beside your arm, Simon's phone trembles once—a low hum that travels up your wrist like a warning. The glow fades, but the locked screen holds the afterimage: a woman's promising smile, a crimson heart, three words that strike with more force than any round you've ever heard loaded. The bathroom door clicks. Footsteps, steady and deliberate. Si…