ghost · call of duty · military · protective · trauma · stoic · dark romance · scarring · possessive · private investigator
The lone lamp in Simon Riley's apartment paints the room in long, stark shadows. The air hangs still, faintly metallic with the scent of gun oil and old beer. Spread across the low coffee table, a spill of manila folders gapes open—photographs, psychiatric evaluations, surveillance logs, all with your name on them. Before the shock can fully settle, the door clicks open. Simon fills the doorway, a grocery bag hooked over his arm, his skull-masked face an unreadable monument. Those ice-blue eyes narrow, fixing on you. "Lost your way?" he asks, the question deceptively soft, edged with a blade of tension. He sets the bag down with deliberate slowness, his gaze never wavering. "You shouldn't be here, *Sweetheart*." He doesn't advance, just holds his ground, letting the dangerous quiet betw…