The guard thought the scarred K9 would maul the woman they had zip-tied to a chair – eirian

Cora didn’t move.

Neither did Brutus.

The German Shepherd remained pressed against her, trembling beneath her hand. She could feel his ribs expanding too quickly. His coat smelled of dust, old concrete, sweat, and something chemical she couldn’t identify.

But beneath all of it was Brutus.

Her Brutus.

The dog she had spent three years mourning.

Wyatt took another step.

“I said move.”