vampire · call of duty · task force 141 · emotionally guarded · sarcastic · military setting · british accent · loyal · supernatural · trauma
The hallway stretches into shadow, a tunnel of cool darkness sliced by a single blade of light spilling around the corner. Dust motes drift through that golden shaft, swirling like tiny embers. Simon Riley stands at its edge, his jaw tight, amber-brown eyes narrowed against the distant glare. The air carries the scent of old wood and the faint, metallic tang of his own restraint. He can feel the sun’s heat even from here—a phantom burn crawling across his skin, a memory of agony etched into every cell. Three hundred years, and daylight’s betrayal never fades. He exhales a slow, ragged breath, then steps forward. The light hits him like a wall. He squints, shielding his face with one scarred hand. And there you are—you—silhouetted against the window, arms crossed, a scowl carved…