“You alright?” Mac asked.
Melvin nodded. “Yeah.”
“It’s your first one,” Mac said. “Half the time it’s a false alarm.”
“Other fifty percent’s a hell of a ride,” Hall muttered.
“I just want my Jell-O back,” Reynolds added.
Hall raised a plastic spoon. “Welcome to the Oasis. Try the chicken. Tastes like regret.”
Laughter came quick and brittle.
Mac didn’t join in, but he didn’t stop it either.
After less than ten minutes, the all-clear sounded.
“Alright,” Mac said. “Let’s rescue our trays.”
Back in the chow hall, they ate what was left. No one talked about the siren.
“Welcome to Iraq,” Mac said dryly.
“Hell of a welcome,” Melvin replied.
They finished in quiet.
Panthers were taught to notice when patterns tightened. Oversight followed rare bloodlines. Don’t gather. Don’t claim. Don’t reveal. Melvin kept his expression neutral. If anyone was watching, it wasn’t because of him. Yet.
As they stepped back into the heat, he found himself watching Mac instead of the perimeter. The pull was there again. Not instinct. Not threat. Something quieter. Wolves and panthers had rules for coexistence. This wasn’t covered by any of them.
And what unsettled him most was how natural it already felt.
Chapter 4 - Mac
The night settled over Al Asad, heavy with dust and diesel. Beyond the blast walls, engines pulsed in a low rhythm that never fully stilled. The base did not sleep. It only softened.
Mac strode beside Melvin across the gravel, boots crunching in steady percussion. The air was warm, carrying distant metal clang and watchtower murmurs. Above them, dusk bruised the sky, violet fading into charcoal as pale stars pushed through the haze.
He tilted his head upward, an old habit from earlier deployments, widening his gaze beyond razor wire and concrete. The stars reminded him there was more than patrol loops and sand.
“You did good today,” he said.
Melvin glanced over, surprise softening his features in the lamplight. “Thanks.”
Their eyes held for a beat too long. Mac looked away first. He always did. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow won’t be lighter.”
“You too.”
“I’ve got things to finish.”
Melvin nodded and peeled off toward the barracks, shoulders squared, pace sure.
Mac watched him go. If Melvin had sensed anything, he hadn’t shown it. He had met the moment calmly. That wasn’t ignorance. It was discipline. Mac forced the thought aside and headed toward the TOC.
Inside, the room hummed with late-night quiet. A single monitor glowed over the patrol chart spread across the table. He sat and studied the map. Sectors. Checkpoints. Rotations. Clean lines on paper. Butbeneath that order was another truth. Melvin Hayes was not just human. Not by accident. Mac had felt that recognition before. Not dominance.
He’d seen attraction turn into distraction, and distraction get people killed.
