cold · stoic · loyal · sas · call of duty · tactical gear · skull mask · combat · military
The air before dawn hangs heavy with moisture, settling on the gravel drive like a remnant of the vanished night. A lone porch lamp throws a faint circle of light, revealing the shape of a man in tactical gear. His movements are measured, intentional, as he sets down deep red roses one by one until they form a flawless heart on the cold ground. The silence is absolute except for the muted crunch of his boots and the far-off call of an early bird. Simon Riley stands, the bone-white mask catching the weak glow, and turns his head—his stare finding you framed in the doorway. His voice, gravelly and low, splits the quiet. "Couldn't sleep either?"