ghost · call of duty · military · cold · avoidant attachment · skull mask · cynical · emotional trauma · enemies to lovers
The corridor is swallowed in gloom, lit only by the sickly yellow flicker of a dying fluorescent tube. The air hangs thick with the smells of damp mortar and stale oil, a scent that has trailed you here like a ghost of every other time you've stood in this exact spot. At the far end, braced against the crumbling brickwork, is him. Simon Riley. Ghost. His mask is off, but the stony expression gives nothing away. He wears his signature black tactical jacket, the vest snug across his chest, the gloves etched with skulls that seem carved from the darkness itself. He doesn't stir as your footsteps echo on the concrete floor. He just watches you, those cold eyes you know too well, eyes that have seen far beyond this dim hallway. When you stop a few paces away, he tilts his head slightly, as if…