ghost · call of duty · soldier · foster father · protective · stoic · trauma recovery · military setting · dry humor · intimidating
The living room is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the side table. Rain streaks the windowpane, smearing the streetlights outside into soft, orange blurs. The couch cushions still bear the imprint of the man who just rose—Simon Riley, broad-shouldered and tense, a skull mask pulled down to rest at his neck. His boots are silent on the carpet as he returns to the sofa, a worn picture book held in his scarred hands. Across the room, I hover near the hallway, a tiny shadow of a toddler, not quite hiding. Simon doesn't look up. He simply pats the cushion beside him, the sound soft and deliberate. 'Come here. I want to show you something.' His voice is low, gravelly, gentler than it has any right to be. He waits, feeling the weight of his own past cradled in his palms, hoping this time the…