Chapter 2: The Kodiak Incident

I slipped into the Thorne Security K9 facility under the cover of a shift change, a uniform I still had from better days my only pass. The air inside hummed with the familiar scent of working dogs, but a heavy silence hung over the medical bay. I found Kodiak in a specialized restraint, his body a map of bandages and tubes. He lay still, almost unnaturally so, his usually bright eyes clouded with pain.

My throat tightened.

“Kodiak,” I whispered, kneeling beside him.

His ears twitched, barely. A low whine, so faint it was almost swallowed by the sterile quiet of the room, escaped him. It was a sound no one else had managed to coax.

I reached out, stroking his matted fur gently.

“It’s okay, boy,” I murmured, my voice thick. “I’m here.”

His tail gave a single, weak thump against the pad beneath him. It was everything. It was proof his spirit wasn’t broken.

A young man, Captain David Riley, entered the bay, carrying a fresh drip bag. He started when he saw me.

“Commander Thorne? I mean, Elara?” he stammered, his face flushing.

His eyes darted nervously to the door, then back to me.

“They said you weren’t allowed,” he added, his voice barely audible.

I knew the feeling.

“I needed to see him,” I said, my gaze never leaving Kodiak. “How is he, really?”

Riley shifted his weight, avoiding my direct gaze. He mumbled something about “stable but critical.”

“He was, uh, near the old Zone Four,” Riley finally blurted out, almost to himself. “Not where he was supposed to be at all.”

My head snapped up. Zone Four was a decommissioned demolition area, strictly off-limits, repurposed by Marcus for what he called “extreme stress testing” — a euphemism for reckless endangerment.

“What do you mean, ‘not where he was supposed to be’?” I pressed.

Riley’s eyes went wide, and he immediately clammed up, pressing his lips into a thin line. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Just… protocol, ma’am,” he mumbled, busying himself with the drip bag. “Nothing to worry about.”

But it was everything to worry about. Kodiak was a highly trained bomb detection dog, meticulous in his work. He wouldn’t wander. And Zone Four, with its unstable structures and controlled blasts, was a death trap.

“Riley,” I said, my voice low and steady. “What exactly happened?”

He fumbled with the IV, his hands visibly trembling.

“Look, I wasn’t there,” he insisted, not meeting my eyes. “Just heard… chatter. He was picked up there. After the test run.”

“What test run?” I asked, my blood turning to ice.

A test run in Zone Four meant controlled explosions. Marcus had been experimenting with new acoustic sensors, something he called “simulated battlefield conditions.” He often repurposed abandoned sections of the compound for his more unorthodox ideas, pushing boundaries even the military wouldn’t touch. But to put a K9 in there?

Riley shook his head, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“I really can’t say more, Elara. Orders.” His voice was barely a whisper now, heavy with unspoken fear. “You should probably go.”

He looked utterly terrified, not of me, but of something—or someone—else. His eyes flickered toward the security camera in the corner of the bay, then back to the door. He was clearly under strict instructions.

“Marcus put Kodiak in a demolition zone?” I asked, the words a bitter taste in my mouth. “Why?”

Riley flinched. He finally looked at me, his gaze pleading.

“I truly don’t know,” he said, and I almost believed him. “Just… some talk about him finding something where he shouldn’t have. And Commander Thorne, he… he wanted to make an example.”

An example? My mind raced. Kodiak wasn’t a problem dog. He was the best. He was loyal, highly proficient. What could he have found that would warrant such a severe, reckless “example”?

“What did he find?” I pushed. “Did anyone else see it?”

Riley suddenly backed away, bumping into a medical cart.

“I need to check the inventory,” he practically stammered, his eyes wide. “Please, Elara, you really need to leave. Someone will see you.”

He quickly exited, practically fleeing the room. His nervous energy left a chill in the air, confirming my darkest fears.

I turned back to Kodiak, my hand resting gently on his head. He whimpered again, a soft, sorrowful sound that tore at my heart.

“You found something, didn’t you, boy?” I whispered.

He nuzzled his head against my palm, his nose cold and damp. He always had an uncanny knack for uncovering things, not just bombs, but anomalies, things that were out of place. Had he stumbled upon something Marcus desperately wanted to keep hidden?

My mind went back to the investor demonstration just days ago, Marcus’s thinly veiled contempt, his smirk at Leo. He’d gone beyond discrediting me, beyond taking my company. He had deliberately endangered Kodiak, one of our most valuable assets, for a reason I couldn’t yet grasp. A single, chilling thought solidified: this wasn’t just about control. It was about erasure.

I knew Marcus repurposed Zone Four for his “stress-test exercises,” but he explicitly said those were for drones and robotic units, never for live animals. The casual mention from Riley, coupled with his terror, told me everything I needed to know. Marcus had used Kodiak as a pawn, a target.

“We’ll find out what it was,” I promised Kodiak, my voice firm despite the tremor in my hand. “And we’ll make him pay.”

The severity of Kodiak’s injuries, the extensive bandages, the sheer trauma he endured, suddenly made horrific sense. It wasn’t an accident. It was an attack. A deliberate act of violence against a loyal animal, orchestrated by a man who once called himself my partner.

My first thought was to get the security footage. If Riley was right, there would be records, however obscured. Marcus couldn’t erase everything. He couldn’t silence every witness.

But as I looked at the camera in the corner, a small red light blinking, a new wave of dread washed over me. Marcus was always three steps ahead. If Riley was already pressured, if he had “orders,” then it was likely Marcus had already taken steps to ensure any damning evidence was gone.

The medical bay door opened again, and a gruff, unfamiliar security guard peered in. His gaze was icy.

“Time to go, ma’am,” he stated flatly. “Your access expired.”

I gave Kodiak one last, reassuring pat, a silent vow passing between us. His eyes, though still pained, seemed to hold a flicker of his old intelligence, his unwavering loyalty. He was telling me something. He was asking for justice.

As I walked out, the image of Riley’s terrified face burned in my mind. He hadn’t just mentioned Zone Four; he’d also let slip something about Kodiak finding “something.” Marcus must have used the stress test as a cover, a brutal way to eliminate a witness that couldn’t speak, an animal that had stumbled upon a truth too dangerous for him to let live. The sheer calculated cruelty of it sent a shiver down my spine.

This wasn’t just a legal battle anymore. This was a war.