Mac exhaled, shaky. “Wolf.”
Melvin held his gaze. “Yeah.”
Mac’s voice dropped further. “And you?”
Melvin didn’t answer immediately. Not avoiding, choosing care. Then, quietly: “Panther.”
Mac’s stomach turned. Not fear. Something worse, recognition. A predator clocking another predator. Different rules. Different instincts. Still danger. Still familiar.
“Rare,” Mac said, more statement than question.
“Yeah.”
Mac loosened his grip, realizing how tight it had become. Melvin didn’t move away. He leaned in slightly, shoulder brushing shoulder.
“You’re not alone,” Melvin said. “Not with me.”
Mac’s throat tightened.
“Stay a little longer.”
Melvin’s answer was immediate.
“Yeah.”
And for the first time since Hall’s death, Mac didn’t feel like grief was a weight pressing him into the ground. It felt like something he could carry and still breathe.
It felt survivable.
Chapter 7 - Mac
Three days after the memorial, the base started pretending it knew how to be normal again. Nearly five months remained in the deployment, and routine was the only way anyone got through it.
The day filled with patrols, briefings, and paperwork. The routine hadn’t changed, but everything felt heavier. The platoon still functioned, but something in it was off. Hall should have been there.
The days didn't slow down. They never did.
Mac buried himself in anything that didn’t laugh or bleed. Supply rosters. Vehicle checks. Patrol routes.
He stopped telling people he was fine.
He just stopped answering.
Melvin gave him room. Not distance. That difference mattered. He didn’t hover or pry. He showed up in quiet ways, the kind that didn’t corner pride. Still, some nights the silence pressed in.
Three nights later, Mac sat behind the motor pool with a cigarette burning between his fingers. He didn’t want it. He just neededsomething to do with his hands. The floodlights didn’t reach this far. Shadows pooled thick. The air tasted like dust and fuel. Melvin found him anyway.
“Those things’ll kill you,” Melvin said.
Mac snorted. “Look around.”
Melvin sat beside him, close but not touching. Mac felt the shift immediately. The wolf quieted. Predator near predator. No threat. Melvin’s gaze drifted once across the dark motor pool, instinctively checking the edges before settling back on Mac. They talked about Hall the way people always did after. The gum. The bad timing. The way he filled every empty second. Mac swallowed when he admitted he kept thinking about the route.
“You didn’t put that bomb there, Mac.”
Mac nodded. Let the words sit. A gust pushed sand across the gravel. Somewhere, a generator coughed.
“Is it getting any easier?” Melvin asked.
