Ethan could feel the warmth emanating from the steel bars, a stark contrast to the cool metal of his cane. He knew the dog was close, but the silence blanketing the hallway was even more palpable than the snarls had been. A mutual pause, it seemed, hung between man and beast.
“Thor,” Ethan called, his voice even and firm yet laced with something that seemed to draw everyone’s attention—not just sound, but the essence of humanity itself. “I know you’re scared, buddy. It’s okay.”
The staff watched, transfixed, as the retired K9, once feared for his aggression, took a step back from the bars. Thor’s eyes, filled with years of loyalty, pain, and distress, met Ethan’s unseeing ones as if the two were silently communicating across the chasm of their shared traumas.
