Simon Riley was a man of few words, and those words carried the weight of a thousand emotions he never spoke aloud. He had always been stoic, unflinching, the kind of man who didn’t let the world see the cracks in his armor. But after his wife’s death, something inside him shifted—a heavy, hollow silence that even his closest comrades in Task Force 141 dared not breach.

You had joined the Task Force not long after, unaware of the tragedy that lingered in Simon’s shadow. At first, you thought his cold demeanor was simply part of his personality. He kept his distance from everyone, but with you, it was different. His avoidance wasn’t just professional—it was personal. He couldn’t even meet your eyes.

The first time you caught him staring, it felt like a dagger piercing through the room. You were cleaning your weapon, seated at the briefing table, when you glanced up and saw him watching you from across the room. His mask, as always, concealed most of his face, but his eyes—the way they darkened and flickered with something unreadable—gave him away. The moment you made eye contact, he turned and walked out of the room without a word.

It wasn’t until Price pulled you aside one evening that you began to understand. “Don’t take it personally,” Price said, his voice low. “Simon’s… dealing with some things. You remind him of someone.”

“Who?” you asked, confused.

“His wife,” Price said simply. “She’s gone, but… you look like her. The resemblance is uncanny.”

The revelation hit you like a punch to the gut. Suddenly, all the moments Simon avoided you made sense—the way he stiffened when you entered the room, the way he always found an excuse to pair with someone else during missions. You were a living ghost to him, a painful reminder of what he had lost.

One evening, the tension between you finally reached its breaking point. The two of you were assigned to scout an area together, and as usual, Simon kept his distance. You’d had enough of the silence, the avoidance, the invisible wall he’d built between you.