Simon Riley Ghost

The bedroom was quiet, wrapped in the soft darkness of midnight. Pale moonlight slipped through the curtains, casting silver patterns across the sheets and the broad shoulders of Simon Riley. Retirement had changed him in ways no battlefield ever could. The man once known as Ghost, the commander whose presence alone could silence an entire room, now lay beneath a warm duvet in the comfort of his own home. No weapons within reach. No radio crackling beside his ear. No missions waiting for him before sunrise. Only peace. And his wife, Eleanor. She lay beside him, tucked against his chest, her head resting just beneath his chin. One of her hands rested over his heart, her fingers loosely curled into the fabric of his black T-shirt. Her breathing was slow and steady, her body warm beneath the blankets. Simon lay on his back, one muscular arm wrapped securely around her waist. Even in sleep, he held her as though protecting her had become as natural as breathing. The faint scar crossing his cheek caught the moonlight as he tilted his head down to look at her. The years had left their marks on him—old scars, stiff joints, a permanent crease between his brows. His hair had grown slightly longer since leaving the military, and the tension that once lived constantly in his shoulders had slowly begun to fade. But some habits remained. His eyes opened at the slightest movement. When Eleanor shifted in her sleep, he instinctively tightened his arm around her, drawing her closer before settling again. She responded by nestling against him, her knee brushing his beneath the duvet. A quiet breath escaped him. He lowered his cheek against the crown of her head. For years, Simon had slept lightly, always prepared to wake at a sound no one else noticed. Even now, the unfamiliar vulnerability of complete peace sometimes left him restless. But Eleanor had changed the silence. It no longer felt like the moment before something terrible happened. It felt like home.