Ivory’s gaze flickered toward Alpha Block for a fraction of a second. Then she adjusted her grip on the broom handle and started walking. No protest, no questions, no fear in her eyes that anyone could detect. Derek exchanged a glance with Amber.
«Twenty bucks says she doesn’t last till lunch.»
«I give her an hour,» Caleb called out. «Rex hates everybody.»
Master Sergeant Silas Turner stood apart from the group, leaning against the equipment shed with his arms folded. At 53, he’d been handling military working dogs longer than most of these pups had been alive. His weathered face revealed nothing as he watched the small woman walk toward Alpha Block, but something in his posture shifted, something that looked almost like tension.
The barking intensified as Ivory approached the first kennel. A massive German Shepherd threw itself against the chain link, foam gathering at the corners of its mouth. The noise was deafening, a wall of sound designed to break the human spirit. Ivory kept walking. Second kennel, third, fourth—each dog more aggressive than the last, each barrier rattling under the assault of powerful bodies and sharp teeth.
Then she reached Rex. The Belgian Malinois was everything Derek had promised, and worse. Eighty-five pounds of muscle and malice bred from a lineage that traced back to the first DevGru combat dogs. His record included three handler injuries, two escape attempts, and one incident that remained classified at levels most people didn’t know existed.
Rex launched himself at the kennel door the moment Ivory’s shadow crossed his territory. His bark was different from the others: deeper, more guttural, a sound that spoke of violence barely contained. And then it stopped.
Rex’s front paws hit the ground. His massive head tilted to one side. The perpetual growl died in his throat, replaced by something no one at the facility had ever witnessed: silence. The dog sat down, ears flattened against his skull. His tail, a tail that had never wagged for anyone in four years of service, began a slow, uncertain sweep across the concrete floor.
Ivory paused, just for a heartbeat. Then she continued toward the supply closet at the end of the row, leaving Rex staring after her with an expression that could only be described as recognition.
«What the…» Derek’s voice trailed off.
Amber stepped closer to the kennel, her heels clicking against the pavement. Rex immediately lunged at the barrier, teeth bared, that familiar murderous intent restored in full. She stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance.
«Must be wearing some kind of pheromone spray,» Caleb suggested, though his voice lacked conviction. «Or maybe Rex is finally going soft.»
Silas Turner said nothing, but his eyes hadn’t left Ivory since she’d picked up that broom. The furrow between his brows had deepened into something approaching genuine curiosity.
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