He did, raising his hands in a gesture of calm authority. “Twenty years Army. That dog hasn’t broken eye contact once. That’s operational conditioning.”
A murmur spread. Heads turned. Conversations that had been private now bristled with curiosity.
Vega’s breathing remained steady. Calm. Controlled. Like everything he did, every movement and pause was deliberate, unshakable, and disciplined to the point of being almost unnatural.
Grayson said quietly, almost apologetically, “Vega won’t move unless I command it.”
At that moment, a tray crashed against the bar as someone accidentally bumped a drink, glass shattering into sharp fragments. People flinched. Vega did not. Not even a twitch.
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