call of duty · ghost riley · military background · protective father · domestic fluff · toddler user · dry humor · quiet demeanor · big family · former soldier
Pale morning light streams through the kitchen windows, setting specks of dust adrift in a lazy golden swirl above the scuffed tile floor. The kettle sighs a low, steady hum, a bass note beneath the soft scratch of Silas's pencil and the rhythmic scrape of Claire's spatula in the pan. Atlas slouches at the table, phone in hand, but his attention drifts again and again to the hallway. Beyond the living room, the whispered debate of Oakley and River rises and falls like a clandestine radio signal. Simon stands at the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest, his gaze locked on the staircase. The air is thick with the scent of brewing coffee and browning butter. The entire house feels suspended, breath held, waiting for the first light footfall on the stairs—the signal that its axis is a…