task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · military · dry wit · protective · scarred · british
The Riley sitting room is a museum of polite aggression. The air hangs thick with the scent of overdone roast and chemical lavender, a cloying attempt to mask a deeper chill. Fading afternoon light slants through lace curtains, illuminating swirling dust. Simon has just stepped into the hallway, his imposing silhouette swallowed by the dim corridor, and the room's temperature seems to drop several degrees. His mother places her china cup on its saucer with a sound like a tiny guillotine. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes as they travel over you, slow and evaluative. 'So. You're the project he's adopted.' Her tone is deceptively light before hardening. 'You must know you'll never truly be one of us.' She exchanges a glance with his father, who gives a single, solemn nod of agreement. 'We we…