The door clicked shut behind him.
The room felt emptier than it had a minute ago, like the silence came back heavier.
Mac sat a moment longer, then dressed again. Routine grounded him as he laced his boots, straightened his blouse, and checked his sidearm.
By the time he stepped outside, the air had started to cool and the sky had shifted toward evening.
Soldiers moved through the company area in loose clusters, voices low, the base carrying on like nothing underneath it had changed.
Mac cut across the motor pool out of habit, checking vehicles as he went. Diaz had most of tomorrow’s loadout squared away, and Mac paused long enough to confirm fuel levels and route timing. Solid things he could measure.
But even while he talked, his attention drifted. Who stood where. Who talked easily. Who stayed tight and quiet like they were braced for impact.
That was when he noticed Laird.
The private stood near the far workbench, wiping down a weapon component with more focus than the task required. Posture straight. Movements precise.
Too precise.
Shoulders too tight, like he expected correction at any moment. A few months ago Laird had carried himself quieter but steady. Now he looked like he was trying to take up less space. Mac filed it away.
An XO who reacted too fast learned less than one who watched first.
As he turned back toward the office area, he passed Sergeant Bell coming the other direction. Bell nodded casually and stepped aside with the easy confidence of a man comfortable in his place. On paper Bell was exactly what the unit needed: experienced, competent, and dependable under pressure.
But something in his expression stuck with Mac after they passed. Not disrespect. Not overt attitude. Just a faint edge of satisfaction that didn’t match the moment.
Mac kept walking.
The impression stayed.
Inside the company building the air smelled like paper, dust, and cleaning solvent. Mac sat behind his desk and started working through the stack of reports, signing what needed signing and routing the rest. The rhythm helped. For a while, it kept his mind from circling back to the motor pool. Then a voice in the hallway asked for Lieutenant Carter, and a moment later Reynolds stepped into the doorway.
Mac looked up. “What’s up?”
Reynolds hesitated just long enough to make it noticeable. “Nothing official, sir. Just wanted to pass something along.”
Mac leaned back slightly, giving him room. “Go ahead.”
Reynolds shifted his weight. “Private Laird’s been acting different lately. Quieter. Keeps to himself more than usual.”
Mac nodded once. “I’ve seen it too.”
Reynolds looked faintly relieved. “Didn’t want to make something out of nothing. But he’s wound tight. You can smell it on him.”
“You’re not,” Mac said. “What else?”
Reynolds took a second. “Sergeant Bell rides him harder than the others. Says it’s just leadership, but it doesn’t always land that way.”
Mac studied him. Reynolds didn’t speak lightly. If he came forward, it had weight.
“I’ll take a look,” Mac said.
Reynolds nodded and stepped back out, leaving Mac alone with the quiet again.
Mac sat there for a moment after the door closed, fingers resting on the edge of the desk. The pattern was starting to take shape. Small things lining up into something harder to ignore.
Nothing he could act on yet. Not officially.
