From the viewing corridor, Lily could see shadows moving quickly inside, gloved hands, metal trays, the faint beep of a monitor. Ethan stood by the doorway, watching as the team worked to clean and stabilize the tiny fox kit. It was barely breathing when they brought it in. Mud clung to its fur, its ribs sharp beneath the skin.
The vet murmured to her assistant, hooking up an oxygen tube, wrapping the fragile body in layers of warm towels. Caleb rested a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “They’re doing everything they can,” he said quietly. Ethan turned toward them, weary but smiling faintly. “She’s a fighter,” he said. “Just like the one who found her.”