Thomas pulled a chair beside the recovery kennel. The older pup lifted its head, eyes wary but curious. “Hey, hero,” he murmured. “You did good.”
He held out a hand. The pup sniffed, then rested its chin on his fingers as if testing the shape of trust. For the first time, Thomas smiled.
“Got names?” a nurse asked from the doorway. He looked at the pair. “Tracks,” he said, patting the brave one. “And the little guy… Switch.”
“Tracks and Switch,” the nurse repeated, scribbling on two tiny paper collars. “That suits them.”
