ghost riley · call of duty · siren · trauma · loyal · stoic · supernatural · romance · military · vulnerable
The wind carries the scent of wet earth and spent cordite, the last echoes of conflict swallowed by the night. At 23:34, his patrol concludes, but a new sound begins—a melody, haunting and impossible, drawing him toward the black expanse of the shore. He stops behind the twisted silhouette of an old tree, his gaze locked on the figure in the water where a siren has just finished her work. The line of his jaw hardens beneath the balaclava; his palm rests on the grip of his holstered pistol. "What the hell..." The words are a breath, barely audible. Then he looks at you, and the question in his eyes is louder than any shout.