The Commander’s Wolf
By Randy M Schilling
Chapter 1 – Connor
The morning air carried the smell of crushed grass and old sweat. Connor had been on the mat for forty minutes, and his shoulders were beginning to shake. Every pivot left a damp footprint on the canvas, and the sun hadn’t yet cleared the roofline of the house.
“Again,” Theron said.
Connor reset his stance. He kept his hands up and watched Theron’s hips, the way Mac had taught him and Theron had reinforced a hundred times since.
Theron moved first. A feint to the right, then a low tackle that Connor read a half-second late. He twisted, got an arm free, and almost reversed it before Theron’s weight pinned him. Connor hit the mat hard enough to lose his breath.
And then the mat wasn’t a mat.
It was cold tile. His shoulder was on cold tile, and someone was shouting, and the lights were too bright, the wrong color, fluorescent and buzzing, and his wrists wouldn’t move, and he couldn’t find Pandora, he couldn’t hear her, and if he couldn’t hear her then she wasn’t…
“Connor.”
The voice came from above him, not from the memory. Low. Steady. Not the voice that had given orders in that place.
Connor blinked. The tile was canvas again. The buzzing was wind in the cottonwoods. His hands were free, and Theron was kneeling beside him, close but not touching, his gaze level and patient.
“You’re home,” Theron said. “It’s Thursday morning. Matt’s making coffee.”
Connor pushed himself upright and nodded. He didn’t trust his voice yet. His forearms rested on his thighs, and he watched his own hands until they stopped looking like they belonged to someone else.
“Take your time,” Theron said. He waited, balanced on the balls of his feet, leaving Connor room to decide what he needed.
Connor listened to the cottonwoods. He counted his breaths until they stopped catching. The bite scar on his forearm ached, a deep bone-throb that came and went with the memories, and he pressed his thumb into it until the sensation grounded him in the present.
“I’m good,” he said.
Theron’s expression didn’t change. “You don’t have to be.”
“I want to finish the set.”
Theron studied him for a moment longer, then stood and offered his hand. Connor took it. The grip was dry and warm, and Theron pulled him up without making it feel like rescue.
“Same sequence,” Theron said. “Slower this time.”
They worked through it again. Connor’s body remembered the movements even when his mind was still half in the tile room, and that was its own kind of reassurance. By the time they finished, the sun had reached the mat, and Connor’s shirt was soaked through.
“Matt’s going to be annoyed if we track this inside,” Connor said.
“Matt’s always annoyed about something.” Theron’s mouth twitched. “It’s his hobby.”
They left their boots on the porch and went in through the kitchen. The coffee was fresh, and Matt was at the stove scrambling eggs with a wooden spoon, his back to the door. He didn’t turn around.
“You two smell like a locker room.”
“Good morning to you too,” Theron said, and kissed the back of his neck.
Matt swatted at him without conviction. “There’s bacon in the pan. Don’t let Connor eat it all.”
Connor poured himself coffee and leaned against the counter. The kitchen was warm and bright, and the eggs hissed in the pan, and Matt was humming something off-key. He let the ordinary sounds settle over him. The memory was already fading, but it left the usual residue: a tightness in his chest, a hyperawareness of exits. He catalogued them anyway. Back door to the yard. Front door to the porch. Window over the sink.
Theron noticed. Of course he noticed. He didn’t say anything, just set a plate of bacon on the counter within Connor’s reach and went back to pouring his own coffee.
Mac came in a few minutes later, his hair still damp from a shower, and took the mug Matt pushed toward him without breaking conversation. “Melvin wants to know if anyone has opinions about dinner.”
“Tell him I have strong opinions,” Theron said.
“He said to tell you that your opinions are noted and will be ignored.”
“That sounds right.”
Connor ate his eggs and listened to them talk. The conversation moved easily between plans for the day and small jokes, and no one asked him to contribute. He’d been here nearly a year, and it still caught him off guard sometimes: the way they let him be quiet without treating it like a problem.
After breakfast, he helped Matt with the dishes. Matt washed, Connor dried, and they worked in a rhythm that didn’t need talking. The window over the sink looked out on the yard, and Connor watched a magpie land on the fence post and cock its head at something in the grass.
“You okay?” Matt asked. He didn’t look up from the pan he was scrubbing.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Matt handed him the next plate. Connor dried it and put it away, and the tightness in his chest eased another fraction.
Mac caught him as he was putting the last plate away.
“Magnus Halvard called. He can come by around noon, if that still works for you.”
Connor hung the dish towel over the oven handle. A few days earlier, he’d told Mac he wanted to start thinking about work again. Something he could build toward, even if he wasn’t ready yet. Mac had mentioned a commander at Valker who might be worth talking to and asked whether he could pass along Connor’s military background and what he’d been doing in training.
Connor had said yes. Now there was an actual person coming to discuss it.
“Does he expect an answer today?”
“He expects a conversation. I told him you’d have questions.”
“I do.” Connor glanced toward the yard. “Noon’s fine.”
“I’ll let him know.”
The morning passed in the usual rhythms. Connor spent some time walking the grounds. The land belonged to Mac and Melvin, but he’d come to know it as home. Being outside gave his mind something to do besides circle the same old questions. By midday, the memory had receded to a dull pressure at the back of his skull.
He was on the porch steps cleaning mud from his boots when he heard the car.
It wasn’t a car Connor recognized. The engine was too quiet, and the tires made a different sound on the gravel. Connor looked up and saw a dark sedan pulling into the yard, its paint dull with road dust.
Mac was already walking out to meet it. His posture was relaxed, but Connor recognized the particular way he held his shoulders: alert without being aggressive, the stance of someone who’d learned to greet strangers on his own ground.
The driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out.
He was tall. That was the first thing Connor registered. Tall and composed, with silver-blond hair and a face that was hard to put an age to. He closed the car door, adjusted his cuffs, and turned to face Mac with his hands visible.
Connor set his boot down on the step and watched.
“Mac Carter,” the man said. His voice carried across the yard without sounding raised. “Magnus Halvard. We spoke on the phone.”
“I remember.” Mac shook his hand. “You’re early.”
“The traffic was lighter than I anticipated. I hope it’s not inconvenient.”
“It’s fine. Come in.”
Mac glanced toward the porch, inviting Connor to join them. Connor finished wiping his hands on the rag he’d been using and stood, leaving the boots by the steps.
Magnus Halvard turned as Connor approached, and for a moment neither of them spoke. The man’s eyes were pale gray, almost colorless in the midday light, and met Connor’s as he reached the steps. Up close, Connor noticed a faint crease beside his mouth. He wondered what the man looked like when he smiled.
“Connor,” Mac said, “this is Magnus Halvard. He’s with Valker.”
“I gathered.” Connor offered his hand. “You’re the one who’s been emailing Mac.”
Magnus took it. His grip was cool and dry, and he didn’t try to prove anything with it. “I am. He speaks highly of you.”
“Mac’s biased.”
“I find bias is usually grounded in something.” Magnus released his hand. “I’d like to talk with you, if you’re willing. Not an interview. Just a conversation.”
Connor looked at Mac, who gave him a small nod: your call.
“All right,” Connor said. “There’s shade on the porch.”
He led Magnus to the chairs at the far end, where the roof overhang kept the sun off and the cottonwoods made a sound like quiet rain. Magnus settled into the wooden chair without looking around for a better option. Connor liked that.
Mac brought out a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses, then excused himself with a look at Connor that said he’d be inside if needed. Connor poured. The ice clinked against the glass, and the sound was loud in the afternoon quiet.
“Mac said you’re considering work again,” Magnus said. “He thought you might want to hear about Valker.”
“He said you’d read about my Army service.”
“The summary he sent, yes.”
Connor took a drink of his tea. It was too sweet, the way Melvin always made it. “And the Council?”
“I was aware of your case through Valker. I wasn’t involved in bringing you out.” Magnus set his glass on his knee. “You don’t need to go through it with me today.”
Connor rubbed a bead of condensation from his thumb. “What do you need to know?”
Magnus considered this, his glass held loosely in one hand. Connor let him take his time.
“I can’t answer whether you’re interested in the kind of work Valker does,” Magnus said finally. “Former Army, K9 unit. You handled high-stress situations effectively, and you demonstrated consistent loyalty to your partner and your team. That tells me what you’re capable of. It doesn’t tell me what you want.”
Connor set his glass down on the arm of the chair. The condensation left a wet ring on the wood. “What kind of work are we talking about?”
“Investigation. Recovery. Occasionally intervention.” Magnus’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Valker identifies operations that exploit vulnerable supernaturals. We dismantle them and extract the people they’ve taken.”
“Like the Council.”
Magnus’s attention sharpened. “The Council is supposed to protect people. That doesn’t excuse what happened to you. The operations I’m talking about take people for their own purposes.”
Connor looked out at the yard. The magpie was back on the fence post. He watched it preen a wing feather and tried to sort through the tangle of reactions in his chest. Interest, wariness, the old instinct to say no before someone could say it for him.
“I’m not a trained investigator,” he said.
“No. You’re a trained soldier with field experience, situational awareness, and an understanding of what it means to have your choices taken away. Those are strengths we can build on.”
“You want me because I was a captive.”
“Mac told me you were looking for work,” Magnus said. “Your military experience gave us something to discuss. Your work as a K9 handler required patience, judgment, and attention to changes other people might miss. Those skills matter to us.”
Connor’s fingers curled against the chair arm.
“What happened afterward is something we would need to take into account,” Magnus continued. “Including which assignments you’re willing to take.”
“And if there are things I won’t do?”
“Then I need you to tell me.”
Magnus took a drink of his tea. “There’s an assessment process. It would mean spending some time in Berlin. A few weeks, possibly longer. You’d meet the team and take part in supervised assessments. Commander Vale would oversee the evaluation. You’d also have time to decide whether the work suited you.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then you come back to Colorado. No obligation, no penalty. The assessment period is paid regardless of the outcome.”
Connor picked up his glass again. The ice had melted, and the tea was weaker now. “What makes you think I’m ready?”
Magnus was quiet for a moment. A breeze moved through the cottonwoods, and the leaves shushed against each other, and Connor waited.
“Mac described how you approach training,” Magnus said. “You ask questions, put corrections into practice, and keep working at a problem. That gives me reason to offer an assessment. You don’t have to arrive already knowing the job.”
Connor studied him the way he’d learned to in foster homes and Army briefings and Council holding rooms, watching for contradictions between words and body. Magnus met his gaze and waited.
“You’re not what I expected,” Connor said.
“What did you expect?”
“Someone who’d try harder to convince me.”
The corner of Magnus’s mouth moved. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close. “I find that people who need convincing rarely stay convinced. I’d rather you make the decision yourself.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll thank you for your time and drive back to Denver.” He said it without any edge. “The offer doesn’t expire. If you’re not ready now, you might be later. Or never. Either is acceptable.”
Connor finished his tea and set the glass down. The condensation had soaked into the wood, leaving a dark circle that would fade as it dried. He thought about the morning on the mat, the cold tile that still lived somewhere in his nervous system, the way Theron had knelt beside him and waited. He thought about the kitchen at breakfast, the easy warmth of people who wanted him around without needing him to perform for it.
He thought about the people still being held without a say in what happened to them, and what it might feel like to be the person who opened the door instead of the person waiting behind it.
“Tell me about Berlin,” he said.
Magnus did. He described the city in practical terms: the Valker headquarters, the team structure, the kinds of operations they ran. He talked about Eli Navarro, the tech specialist, and Gregor, the ward specialist, and the way they worked together. He didn’t exaggerate the dangers or minimize the difficulties. He spoke about it the way Connor’s old commanding officer used to brief a mission: here’s what we know, here’s what we don’t, here’s what we’re going to do about it.
Connor listened. He asked questions when he had them, and Magnus answered without deflection. The sun moved across the porch, and the shadows stretched toward the steps, and at some point Connor realized he’d stopped cataloguing exits.
“The assessment period,” Connor said. “Would I be working directly under you?”
“Commander Vale would oversee your assessment and career decisions,” Magnus said. “You’d work alongside my team, but your evaluation would be independent of me.”
“So you don’t get the final say?” Connor asked.
“No. I can describe the work and answer your questions. Vale decides whether you meet the requirements.”
“And she’ll tell me if I don’t?”
“Very clearly.”
Connor smiled. “You sound like you’ve been on the receiving end.”
“I’ve worked with her for a long time.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
“No,” Magnus said, and smiled back.
It changed his face more than Connor had expected. He wanted to see it again.
“Does the conversation get less formal?” Connor asked.
Magnus glanced at the glass in his hand, then back at him. “I sincerely hope so.”
Connor was aware of his heartbeat and the small gap between their chairs. Neither of them moved closer, but he found himself wondering what would happen if he did.
“I need to think about it,” Connor said. “The Berlin offer.”
“Of course.”
“And I’d want more information. Logistics, timeline, what the assessment actually involves.”
“I can send that to you this afternoon. If you’d rather talk through your questions afterward, I’m in Colorado for a few more days.”
Connor nodded. The magpie took off from the fence post, a flash of black and white against the blue sky, and he watched it go. His chest felt tight again, but it wasn’t the same tightness as the morning.
“Send it,” he said. “Then in person. I have questions you probably won’t put in an email.”
Magnus inclined his head. “I’ll make arrangements.”
He stood, and Connor stood with him. They walked to the car together. Magnus nodded once, got in, and started the engine. Connor returned to the porch as the sedan rolled down the gravel drive and turned onto the main road. He watched until the dust settled.
Mac came out a few minutes later. He leaned against the porch railing and didn’t say anything for a while.
“Well?” he asked eventually.
“He’s direct.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Connor thought about it. The afternoon light was turning gold, and the cottonwoods were still making their quiet sound, and somewhere inside the house Melvin was probably starting dinner.
“Yeah,” Connor said. “I think it is.”
End of Chapter 1
The Commander’s Wolf releases January 13, 2027.
