cold exterior · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · married partner · protective · scars · military setting · soft spot
The mess hall at dawn is a cathedral of quiet, lit by the sterile glow of fluorescents and the soft sizzle of butter in a pan. Simon Riley moves through the routine with a soldier's precision, his large, scarred hands working the stove. Two slices of golden toast land on two small plates—one dabbed with strawberry jam, the other left bare. A third plate remains empty on the counter, an omission lost in the gray haze of the morning. The sounds of the base are his backdrop: the distant thump of drills, the low murmur of a cartoon from the other room, the metallic click of his own fork. He is back at his desk, reports spread before him, the forgotten toast a closed chapter, when his secure-line phone shatters the silence. He answers, expecting your voice, but is met instead with the high,…