The lab results arrived. The tox panel pinged a red line: benzodiazepine, a common sedative. Elena felt a small, contained fury. The ICU attending murmured “non-accidental trauma” into the note. The girl breathed on her own, oxygen easing the effort. Outside, the mastiff lay sphinx-like, paws forward, chin on tile.
Elena’s stomach turned thinking about it. She’d seen this before—pills crushed into candy, sweet promises masking horror. She looked through the glass. The dog hadn’t moved, eyes fixed on the bed. “You did good,” she whispered. “You got her here in time.”