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.
“You ever fish?” Melvin asked.
Mac huffed. “Not since I was a kid. My dad thought bobbers were for amateurs.”
Melvin told him about early mornings with his grandfather. Fog on the lake. A thermos that always showed up.
Mac listened. He understood that kind of quiet loyalty.
“That’s when I started paying attention,” Melvin said. “To who shows up. Who stays.”
Mac nodded. That hit close. They walked in silence. Melvin settled into his awareness like something that had always belonged there. That unsettled him.
At the barracks, Melvin slowed at his door.
Mac should have said goodnight. Instead, he said, “Don’t go in yet.”
Melvin turned, attention sharpening.
Mac swallowed. His throat felt tight and dry. “I… don’t want to sit with it alone tonight.” He hated how honest that sounded. Hated how much it meant.
Melvin didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
They went into Mac’s room without turning on the overhead light. Mac sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. The wolf pressed heavy behind his ribs. Not angry. Just hurting. Melvin sat across from him, matching posture without thinking.
“You ever lose someone before?” Melvin asked.
Mac looked up at him. “You already know the answer to that.”
Melvin didn’t argue. “Hall reminded me of them,” Mac said. “Some people don’t belong in places like this.”
Melvin rested a hand on his forearm.
The contact landed deeper than it should have. Something quiet moved through him, unfamiliar but steady, like his body recognized the touch before his mind did. Mac’s breath caught. He didn’t pull away.
“You carry it,” Melvin said. “And you keep going.”
“I don’t talk about this.”
“You are now.”
Mac stared at him, stunned by how simple Melvin made it. Like grief wasn’t weakness. Like being seen wasn’t a threat. “This feels different.”
“I feel it too.” Melvin replied. The words settled between them, heavier than they should have been.
Silence thickened.
Mac’s hand lifted and settled over Melvin’s. Deliberate. The wolf went still. “You know the rules,” Mac said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“So do I.”
He swallowed once. “I’m not just an officer. Not just human.” Melvin didn’t look surprised.
“I know.”
Mac frowned. “How?”
Melvin hesitated, then answered in a way that didn’t force Mac to say anything he couldn’t. “You smell like you’ve been holding your breath for years,” Melvin said. “And you move like you hear things other people don’t.”
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.