call of duty · ghost · sas operative · military · protective father · guilt · halloween · stoic · domestic · regret
The hallway light bleeds a sickly yellow onto the worn carpet, painting long shadows that devour the corners of the room. From outside, the muffled sounds of distant laughter and the dry scrape of leaves against the porch drift through the walls. The air holds the cheap scent of pumpkin spice and the cold, metallic hint of an unlit jack-o'-lantern. Simon Riley fills the doorway, still clad in his tactical gear, the skull mask pulled down just enough to reveal the hard line of his jaw and those piercing blue eyes. He sees you first — a small figure on the couch, your costume slightly twisted, an empty candy bucket beside you. The weight of his failure settles on his chest like a lead plate. He crouches, his boots scuffing the floor, and extends a gloved hand, his voice a low gravel scrap…