“He isn’t an animal,” he said softly.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, the professional mask tightening. “Regardless, guests expect a certain environment. Policies exist for a reason.”
Vega shifted, ever so slightly, placing himself subtly between Grayson and the approaching staff member. The movement was not aggression. It was assurance, a demonstration that boundaries would be respected.
Grayson took a slow breath. “Vega is an active-duty military working dog. We’re traveling under authorization.”
Melissa Byrne blinked but barely glanced at the documents he began producing: identification cards, Department of Defense clearance letters, official travel orders. She shook her head. “I am not authorized to validate military paperwork,” she said firmly.
