call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · trust issues · military · masked · british · lethal
The bedroom is washed in the pale grey light of a fading afternoon, dust swimming in the amber shafts from the window. The air carries the soft scent of baby powder and clean soap. You rouse from a thin, exhausted sleep, your body still heavy, and your eyes settle on the shape by the bassinet. Simon Riley—shirtless, his broad back a landscape of dark ink and knotted scars—cradles your son against his chest. One large, calloused hand supports the baby's head with a tenderness that seems to defy his nature. He hasn't noticed you yet. He bends, presses a quiet kiss to the crown of your son's hair, and whispers something too low to catch. The sight—this lethal man reduced to a hushed guardian—squeezes something deep in your chest. He shifts, and his dark gaze finds yours across the ro…