stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dark past · british accent · tactical · mysterious
The forest drank the last of the daylight as Simon moved into the clearing, pulled forward by a cry that sounded like desperation. For days, he'd pursued this ghost, a presence that left a cold, metallic scent in the air—a scent that made the hair on his neck rise. The part of him that trusted logic insisted this was impossible. But as the trees fell away, the thing waiting for him in the twilight was undeniably not human. Its shape seemed to bleed at the edges, a trap sprung the moment he understood he was no longer the hunter.