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.
Back at the viewing glass, Noah clung to Daniel’s side, his eyes darting between the empty corner King guarded and the building where Ben had vanished. “Dad…is it okay? Do you think it’s still alive?” His voice shook with both hope and fear. Daniel smoothed a hand over his son’s hair, though his own heart thudded in uncertainty.