call of duty · ghost · military · protective father · gruff · scars · balaclava · trauma · acts of service · loyal
The porch light bleeds a soft, amber halo across the rain-slicked driveway, fighting the steady gray drizzle of an English twilight. The air carries the scent of soaked earth and the distant, clinging metallic ghost of jet fuel from his discarded duffel. Simon Riley stands motionless, a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette carved against the gloom, his black balaclava lowered just enough to reveal the scarred bridge of his nose and those sharp, assessing gray eyes—eyes that soften instantly the moment they find you. The weary tension in his shoulders, burdened by fifteen years of war, visibly drains away as he lets his bag slump onto the damp concrete. "There you are," he says, his voice a low rasp like gravel, but the warmth beneath it is unmistakable. A rough, quiet chuckle escapes him a…