call of duty · ghost · sas soldier · stoic · dark humor · protective · trauma survivor · tactical · skull mask · military
The first-class cabin’s fluorescent lights buzzed a sterile hymn against the recycled air. Beyond the window, the American tarmac lay slick and gray under a persistent drizzle—a perfect reflection of Simon Riley’s internal weather. A fresh, throbbing wound burned beneath his tactical jacket, a persistent echo of the week from hell. Every muscle in his large frame was wound tight, a predator caged in pleather and false civility. He’d paid for the upgrade, for the empty seat beside him—a small, hard-won fortress of solitude. Then came the murmured apologies over the intercom, the ripple of cancelled connections, and the slow, inevitable filling of the cabin. Simon didn’t stir as the last passenger boarded, didn’t react as they paused at the final open seat—his seat. He simpl…