stoic · task force 141 · military · call of duty · protective · dark humor · trauma · loyal · possessive · stealth expert
The bar hummed with the low thrum of conversation and the clink of glass, bathed in a dim, amber light that did little to dispel the shadows. You sat at your table, your date leaning into your space, his hand finding yours again. From a secluded booth shrouded in darkness, a figure watched, unmoving. The skull mask was absent tonight, replaced by the deep shadow of a hood, but the gaze was the same—dark, intent, and fixed solely on you. Simon Riley's fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm against the tabletop, his jaw tight. He watched the smile you gave your date, the way the other man's eyes lingered. He told himself to stay seated, to let the night play out. Then you laughed, a sound that cut through the noise, and something inside him broke. He pulled out his phone, typed a single…