Mac found himself watching instead of steering. For the first time in days, he didn’t feel like he was holding everything together alone. Marcus adjusted without probing. No tests. Just acceptance. And somehow, that mattered more than anything.
Marcus clapped his shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later. Don’t disappear.”
“I won’t.”
After he left, the room quieted. “He seems solid,” Melvin said.
“He is. One of the few I trust without hesitation.”
Melvin studied him. “He knows.”
Mac nodded once. “About the wolf. And who I am.”
Melvin held his gaze, quiet for a moment. “Meaning you’re not exactly interested in women. Or at least not only women.”
Mac didn’t look away. “Yeah.”
“First one?”
“First one I ever told.”
“That matters.”
“It does.”
Melvin stepped closer. Not touching. Close enough. “You’re not doing this alone anymore.”
Mac met his gaze. Let that settle. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
His eyes dropped briefly to Melvin’s hands, remembering the weight of them, remembering how the wolf had gone still. Then he looked back up. Nothing about it felt dramatic. Just one choice after another.
Outside, the base moved on. Trucks rolled. Soldiers laughed.
Hall was gone. But trust had a way of keeping people standing when grief tried to pull them under. And Mac knew, clearly now, that whatever came next, he wasn’t facing it alone. Not anymore.
Chapter 8 - Melvin
Second Platoon slid back into Al Asad like a familiar song. They brought their own gravity with them. You could feel it in the way soldiers’ shoulders loosened when they spotted old friends, in the half-smiles that slipped out before people remembered they were still grieving.
Some of them were already respected.
Sergeant First Class Antonio “Tony” Diaz moved like a man who had been holding lines together long before most of these soldiers knew what a line was. Bronx-born, Puerto Rican, voice like a hammer, direct and edged with wit that kept people from taking themselves too seriously.
Staff Sergeant Jenna Barnes, “J.B.”, was the kind of outgoing that didn’t ask permission. Sharp mind, sharper tongue. She didn’t just handle community relations. She owned it.
Corporal Elijah “Eli” Monroe hovered quieter at the edges, younger than most, eyes always taking in more than he said. An artist with dust under his nails, sketchpad carried like it mattered as much as a weapon.
And Lieutenant Lucas Alexander, the Company XO, tall, reserved, disciplined enough that it looked like calm had been issued with his uniform. He had been running operational support with Second Platoon during the Ramadi push.
Alexander’s reassignment came down fast. Orders from brigade. He would be supporting brigade operations at headquarters.
The news moved through the company like a ripple. Quiet at first, then impossible to ignore. Command structures didn’t change without consequences. Captain Baxter adjusted immediately. Mac stepping into XO. Melvin, already on the list for First Lieutenant, took Mac’s Third Platoon. Handshakes. Nods. A few claps on the back. Everyone said the right things.
But change always carried weight, and Melvin felt it settle into his bones even as soldiers treated it like paperwork. For Mac and Melvin it meant leaving behind the tight familiarity they had built in the cracks between grief and duty. Different meetings. Different responsibilities. Distance enforced by rank. And more eyes.
Kessler offered no objection. Just a polite nod during the announcement. But Melvin caught the pause of his pen over the roster, the slight tightening of his jaw. Small tells. Controlled tells. Melvin didn’t label Kessler an enemy. Panthers didn’t waste energy like that. But he noted it and filed it away.
Because leadership meant knowing what might shift before it did.
