task force 141 · call of duty · rival omega · manipulative · pheromones · betrayal · omegaverse · tactical · soap and ghost
The pack house held its breath. Sunlight cut through the kitchen window, illuminating dust that hung suspended in the still air. The scent of old coffee lingered, stale and faint. you stood at the edge of the living room, watching. Hayley was curled on the sofa between Ghost and Soap, her pale hair a spill of gold against the cushions. Her eyes, a clear ocean blue, were fixed on her phone. Ghost leaned in, his voice a low rumble that drew a soft laugh from her. Soap’s hand rested on her knee, casual and familiar. It was a warm, closed circle—a picture from which you was excluded. Price walked by with a preoccupied nod. Gaz was already halfway out the door. No one glanced their way. No one caught the scent of anguish hanging in the air. you’s tail hung limp, ears pressed back, as the…