Ivory didn’t look up from securing the final strip of tape. «YouTube.»
«That’s not a YouTube bandage.»
«Must have been a good video.» Ivory rose, collected her supplies, and moved toward the next kennel. «His wound should be checked by a vet. It’s deep but clean.»
Fern stared at the bandage, at Kaiser, who had already settled into a comfortable position with his injured leg extended—more relaxed than she’d ever seen him—and at the retreating figure of a woman who supposedly knew nothing about animal care.
«Wait,» Fern called out. «At least tell me your name. Your real name.»
Ivory paused at the kennel door. For a moment, something flickered across her features. A shadow of a smile, perhaps, or just a trick of the gray morning light.
«Ivory works fine.» She was gone before Fern could ask another question.
The training exercise that afternoon was supposed to be routine. Handler evaluation drills, conducted every quarter to ensure the dogs and their partners maintained peak operational readiness. Lieutenant Amber Nash was coordinating, which meant everything had to run on schedule and look impressive for the reports she’d be filing.
The scenario was straightforward: simulated hostile engagement in the urban warfare mock-up that occupied the facility’s eastern sector. Two-story buildings made of plywood and concrete. Street layouts designed to replicate Middle Eastern architecture. Target dummies wired to pop up and fall down on command.
Caleb Reeves was running point with Shadow, a German Shepherd he’d been handling for 18 months. Their job was to clear the first building, locate the hostage dummy on the second floor, and signal the all-clear. Standard stuff for any experienced canine team.
What nobody expected was the pyrotechnic malfunction. The flashbang simulators were supposed to produce light and noise without actual explosive force. Training aids, nothing more. But somewhere in the maintenance chain, someone had loaded a device with an incorrect charge.
When it detonated six feet from Caleb’s position, the concussive wave sent him sprawling backward, disoriented and temporarily deafened. Shadow’s training held, barely. The dog froze in place, awaiting commands that weren’t coming from his handler’s ringing ears. What happened next would be debated for weeks.
Ivory had been cleaning windows on the administration building’s second floor. She had a clear sightline to the training mock-up. When the explosion rippled through the morning air, she didn’t hesitate. By the time anyone else had processed what was happening, she was already moving. Not running—that would have been too obvious—but flowing through the facility with a speed that seemed impossible for someone her size.
She reached the mock-up perimeter in under 30 seconds, slipping past the safety barriers while the safety officers were still fumbling for their radios. Inside the building, Caleb was trying to stand. Blood trickled from his left ear. His balance was shot, inner ear scrambled by the pressure wave. Shadow whined and circled, torn between protecting his handler and completing the mission parameters burned into his training.
Ivory appeared in the doorway like smoke.
«Don’t move,» she said, her voice cutting through the ringing in Caleb’s ears with surprising clarity. «You’re concussed. Moving will make it worse.»
«Who the… how did you…»
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