He held up a badge to the camera—a badge that belonged to a high-ranking officer on their own base. “Because the person who is coming for me isn’t the enemy,” he whispered. “It’s Commander Hale.”

The video cuts for half a second as the handler shifts his grip, breath ragged but controlled, the sound of distant rotors bleeding into the audio. Maggie feels her pulse hammer against her throat as if her body already knows what comes next.

“He signs the op,” the handler whispers. “He reroutes assets. He changes extraction windows. I catch it because Titan flags a scent that doesn’t belong, a friendly that shouldn’t be there. I report it up the chain. Two hours later, my comms go dead and the grid lights up like a shooting gallery.”

The handler swallows hard. Sweat beads at his hairline, eyes sharp even now.

“If you’re hearing this, it means Titan did what I trained him to do. He carried the truth home. Trust him. Trust your instincts. And don’t let them turn this into just another folded flag.”

The screen freezes on his face. The video ends.

The clinic is silent except for the steady beep of Titan’s monitor and the faint hiss of oxygen. Maggie doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until her chest burns and she has to let it out slowly, carefully, like she’s afraid the air itself might break something.

Behind her, the senior vet clears his throat. “We need to focus on stabilizing him,” he says gently, eyes flicking from the screen to Titan’s limp form. “Internal bleeding is under control for now, but—”

“I know,” Maggie says, already stepping away from the computer. Her voice is steady in a way that surprises even her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She returns to Titan’s side and takes his paw again. His eyes are half-lidded now, body heavy with pain meds but consciousness still flickering stubbornly behind that familiar intensity. When she squeezes his paw, his toes curl once in response.

“Good boy,” she murmurs. “You did perfect.”

The doctors move in with quiet efficiency, and this time Titan doesn’t resist. He doesn’t flinch when hands probe his abdomen or when instruments clink against metal. His gaze never leaves Maggie’s face, as if anchoring himself to the only solid thing left in the room.

Minutes stretch. Then more. Blood pressure stabilizes. The bleeding slows. A collective exhale ripples through the staff.

When they finally wheel Titan toward recovery, Maggie follows, her hand still clasped around his. No one tries to stop her.

In the hallway outside, a pair of MPs stand at attention, their expressions unreadable. Maggie clocks them instantly. New rotation. Clean boots. Too clean.

She says nothing.

Recovery is dim and warm, the air thick with antiseptic and quiet determination. Titan is settled into a reinforced kennel, IV lines secured, monitors humming softly. Maggie sits on the floor beside him, back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest. Only when the door closes does she allow her composure to crack.

Her tears fall silently, splashing against the concrete, her sleeve, Titan’s fur. She presses her forehead to the bars of the kennel and breathes him in. Oil. Dust. Blood. Home.

“You carried it all the way back,” she whispers. “You stubborn, beautiful idiot.”

Titan exhales, a deep, rattling sigh, and shifts closer to the bars, his flank pressing against them as if trying to bridge the gap.

Footsteps approach. Maggie stiffens.

The senior vet appears in the doorway. “He’s stable,” he says quietly. “He’ll live.”

Maggie nods, gratitude surging so fast it nearly knocks her over. “Thank you.”

The vet hesitates. “There’s… chatter. About that SD card.”

Maggie looks up slowly. “Already?”

He meets her gaze. “This base has ears.”

“Then we don’t have time,” she says, standing. She wipes her face, squares her shoulders. “I need access to a secure terminal. Off-network.”

The vet studies her for a long moment, then nods once. “Follow me.”

They move through back corridors, past supply rooms and locked doors, until he stops in front of a small office marked STORAGE. Inside, the lights are low and the hum of an isolated terminal fills the space.

“No cameras,” he says. “No logins.”

“Thank you,” Maggie repeats, meaning more than the words can carry.

She inserts the SD card again, fingers flying over the keys as she copies the file and checks the metadata. Embedded timestamps. GPS pings. Encrypted comm logs piggybacked onto the video file like a parasite.

Her stomach tightens. This isn’t just a message. It’s evidence.

She works fast, decrypting what she can, tagging the rest for later. Names appear. Call signs. Orders signed digitally by Commander Hale’s credentials.

Her hands shake, but she doesn’t stop.

When she’s done, she pulls the card free and slips it back into her pocket. She wipes the terminal clean, leaving nothing behind, then steps out into the hall.

Two MPs are waiting.

“Petty Officer Ashford,” one says, blocking her path. “Commander Hale requests your presence.”

Maggie’s mind races, but her face remains neutral. “I’m assigned to medical.”

“This won’t take long.”

She glances once toward recovery, toward Titan. The MP follows her gaze, something cold flickering behind his eyes.

“He’s being taken care of,” the MP says.

Maggie nods. “Then lead the way.”

Commander Hale’s office is immaculate, every surface polished, every object placed with surgical precision. The man himself stands by the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the flight line.

“Maggie,” he says without turning. “You’re back sooner than expected.”

“Wasn’t my choice, sir,” she replies evenly.

He turns now, and his smile is all teeth and no warmth. “I hear you made quite an impression at the clinic.”

“I did my job.”

“So did Titan,” Hale says casually. “Remarkable animal.”

Maggie’s jaw tightens. “He’s a soldier.”

“Of course.” Hale gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

She does, spine straight, eyes locked on his.

Hale leans against the desk. “You know how these things go,” he says. “Fog of war. Tragic losses. Sometimes stories get… simplified.”

“I don’t believe in simplified stories,” Maggie says.

“No,” Hale agrees softly. “You believe in loyalty.”

Her heart pounds. She says nothing.

“I trained with your handler,” Hale continues. “Brave man. Too curious for his own good.”

Maggie feels the weight of the SD card in her pocket like a live wire. “Curiosity keeps people alive.”

Hale chuckles. “Sometimes it gets them killed.”

The room hums with tension. Then Hale straightens, his expression hardening.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” he says. “And I expect an honest answer. Did Titan bring something back with him?”

Maggie meets his gaze, unblinking. “He brought himself back. Barely.”

Hale studies her, eyes narrowing. Seconds tick by.

Then, suddenly, an alarm blares through the base.

Red lights flash. A voice crackles over the intercom: “Security breach. Level three. All units stand by.”

Hale swears under his breath. He turns sharply toward the door, barking orders into his comm.

Maggie stands.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Hale glares at her. “Sit down.”

She doesn’t.

Another voice cuts in over the intercom, this one calm, authoritative, unmistakably Titan’s handler’s former team lead. “Commander Hale, stand down. MPs in your office, do not interfere.”

The door bursts open. Armed personnel flood the room, weapons trained.

Hale spins, fury etched across his face. “This is outrageous—”

“Sir,” the team lead says, stepping forward. “You are relieved of command, effective immediately.”

Hale’s eyes snap to Maggie, realization dawning. “You set me up.”

Maggie’s voice is steady. “You did that yourself.”

He lunges.

Maggie moves on instinct, ducking aside as MPs tackle Hale to the ground. The struggle is brief, violent, then over. Hale is cuffed, dragged to his feet, his rage dissolving into something small and desperate.

As he’s hauled away, he spits at Maggie. “You think this changes anything?”

She watches him go. “It changes everything.”

The base buzzes with controlled chaos as the truth ripples outward. Arrests follow. Files are seized. Orders are reviewed. The official story cracks, then shatters.

Maggie returns to recovery on unsteady legs. Titan lifts his head when he sees her, tail thumping weakly against the kennel floor.

She kneels beside him, laughter and sobs tangling in her throat. “You did it,” she whispers. “We did it.”

Titan huffs softly, eyes warm, present.

The team lead appears behind her. “We’re honoring him,” he says quietly. “Your handler. Full investigation. Full honors.”

Maggie nods, unable to speak.

“And Titan?” he adds.

She smiles through tears. “He’s already home.”

Hours later, as the base settles into a new, fragile calm, Maggie sits with Titan under the dim lights, her hand resting on his broad head. He breathes steadily now, pain easing, purpose fulfilled.

“You don’t have to carry it anymore,” she tells him. “You can rest.”

Titan’s eyes close at last, his body finally letting go.

Maggie stays, keeping watch, honoring the bond that saved them all.