Meanwhile, Ben was already sprinting down the service corridor, the bundle cradled tight against his chest. The vet team rushed to meet him, snapping on gloves, laying out instruments under the bright fluorescent lights. Ben set the small body on the table, his chest heaving.
Under the harsh glow, the truth was undeniable. It was a puppy—black-furred, skin stretched thin over sharp bones, a faint whimper escaping its cracked lips. Malnourished. Injured. Yet alive. The vet immediately checked its breathing, cleaned its wounds, and started fluids through a tiny line in its leg.