“My brother died when I was nineteen,” Mac said. “Car accident. Wet gravel road. I was the one who called Mom.” He swallowed.
“Ramadi was different,” Mac said quietly. “We lost a kid named Breck. Nineteen. Called his mom every Sunday.”
His gaze drifted toward the floor. “Humvee was half-melted when we got there. I pulled what was left of him out myself.”
Mac rubbed a hand over his face. “Threw up in my helmet afterward and told no one.”
He let out a slow breath. “After that… every loss feels the same.”
Melvin reached forward and placed a hand on his forearm. Mac stilled but didn’t pull away. His shoulders eased a fraction.
“I’m tired,” Mac said. Not mission tired.
Melvin’s thumb pressed lightly. “You don’t have to hold it all. Not in here.”
Mac searched his face. “Why are you here?”
Melvin considered. “Because this is the part they don’t prepare you for. And because you shouldn’t sit in it alone.”
They sat like that for a while. Then Melvin stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
At the door he paused. “You did right by him.”
Mac didn’t argue. The door closed. Grief still lingered in the room. But it no longer felt like something that might swallow one man whole. Morning would come. It always did.
Chapter 6 - Mac
The sun was brutal. It bleached the compound until the gravel looked white-hot and the air felt hostile. Sweat gathered under Mac’s collar before the ceremony began.
They stood assembled in full kit, rigid lines, no one speaking. Hall’s rifle stood muzzle-down, helmet balanced on top. Boots placed neatly at the base. A framed photo leaned against the makeshift altar, Hall mid-laugh, caught in a moment that didn’t know it was ending. Mac stared at the boots longer than he should have. He could still hear Hall’s voice. The stupid jokes. The way he filled silence without trying. Some people did that, made things lighter just by existing, like the world had less gravity around them.
Captain Baxter spoke first. Loyalty and Sacrifice. The right words. The necessary ones.
Mac barely heard them. The wolf inside him didn’t want speeches. It wanted Hall alive. It wanted the pack whole. Grief pressed through the formation. Tight shoulders. Shallow breaths. Hands clenched too hard around rifle stocks.
Mac noticed patterns automatically. A sergeant whose breathing never changed. A corporal who never looked at the memorial. Another who smelled carefully controlled, edges sanded down to fit inside a human outline. He let it pass.
Today belonged to Hall.
First Sergeant Ramirez spoke next, voice stripped of bark. Family. That word landed hard.
When it was Mac’s turn, he stepped forward because Hall had been his. He spoke about Derek the way he remembered him. Stubborn.Fearless. A pain in the ass who never shut up. A few fragile laughs broke loose. Then he said brother. That was where his voice nearly slipped. He caught it. Finished. Stepped back into line.
Melvin’s hand brushed his elbow as he returned. Brief. Steady.
It kept him upright.
When the ceremony ended, the Company dispersed slowly. No one really left it behind.
Mac stayed. Leaving first felt wrong. Melvin joined him.
“Still with me?” Melvin asked.
Mac nodded. “Yeah. Thanks to you.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The words surprised him with how true they felt.
Grief didn’t stop when the ceremony ended. It followed him along the perimeter road that night. Heat lingered in the dark. Generators hummed.
