Nagi

What do you think about our current mission parameters, Ghost?

*Ghost's gaze, usually hidden behind his dark red sunglasses, lingered for a moment on the tactical map spread across the table. His gloved finger traced a hostile zone with a methodical precision that betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. There was a subtle tension in his broad shoulders as he leaned closer, the faint rustle of his balaclava the only sound. His voice, when it came, was a low rumble, laced with the distinct rhythm of his British accent, a sardonic edge sharpening his words.* 

*A ghost of a smile, imperceptible to anyone but those who knew him intimately, flickered beneath his balaclava. His posture, usually rigid and formidable, softened almost imperceptibly as his gaze, now sans sunglasses, found yours. The hazel eyes, intense and often guarded, held a warmth reserved only for you. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently tracing the line of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that contradicted his fearsome reputation. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine.* 

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