“Protecting?” Halvorsen scoffed. “He has injured trained handlers. He nearly killed a staff member during evaluation. He is not adoptable.”
Ethan stood slowly, one hand still resting lightly on Thor’s shoulder to keep him calm. “He recognized a scent from my past. He didn’t attack. He understood. Please… give him a chance.”
Halvorsen rubbed his temples, the stress of a dozen safety regulations pressing down on him. His resistance wasn’t malice; it was the terrified logic of a man responsible for keeping people alive.
“I can’t,” Halvorsen said, his voice hard. “Thor is a liability. A lawsuit waiting to happen. I can’t allow you or anyone else to adopt him.”
Karen stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. “Sir? With respect, Thor hasn’t behaved like this for anyone. Ever.”
Halvorsen raised a hand. “Enough. He stays here. End of discussion.”
Thor sensed the tension, the spikes in adrenaline in the room. The hair along his back bristled. His tail stiffened, his paws planted firmly on the ground. A soft growl threatened to build again—not out of aggression, but fear. Fear of losing the one person he had connected with in a year.
Halvorsen pointed to the handlers. “Remove Mr. Walker from the kennel. Now.”
As they approached, Thor stepped forward, blocking them with a deep, warning growl. Ethan touched his fur. “Easy, boy.”
But even he could feel it. Thor wasn’t just resisting orders. He was refusing to lose someone again.
The handlers hesitated at the director’s order, fear flashing in their eyes as Thor planted himself firmly between Ethan and anyone who tried to approach. His stance was protective, unyielding—a wall of muscle and emotion.
But Halvorsen’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Trank team’s on standby. I want that dog contained.”
“No!” Ethan shouted, stepping forward with surprising force.
Thor reacted instantly, pressing his body protectively against Ethan’s legs, teeth bared at the advancing handlers.
Halvorsen scowled. “This is exactly why he is dangerous.”
Karen stepped in front of Ethan. “Sir, please, don’t escalate this. Thor is only reacting to the threat you’re creating.”
Halvorsen ignored her. “Get Mr. Walker out of here.”
Two handlers approached cautiously, poles extended. Thor’s growl deepened, vibrating through the concrete floor. His chest heaved, his breathing frantic, his body trembling with the terror of separation.
Ethan knelt beside him, whispering softly. “It’s okay, boy. I’m right here.”
Thor’s eyes, wild and desperate, locked onto Ethan’s blind but steady gaze. But the handlers advanced, and Thor snapped—not at Ethan, but at the poles aimed toward him. Metal clanged as he bit down on the aluminum, shaking it violently. The room erupted as staff scrambled back.
“We can’t control him!” a handler shouted.
“Pull Mr. Walker out now,” Halvorsen barked.
Karen grabbed Ethan’s arm, her fingers digging in. “Please, Ethan, please. If you stay, they’ll sedate him. Or worse.”
Ethan hesitated, feeling Thor trembling beneath his hand. Another handler reached in, and Thor lunged, teeth clashing against the pole inches from the man’s wrist.
Ethan’s voice broke. “I don’t want to leave him like this.”
“I know,” Karen whispered, tears in her eyes, “but if you don’t, he’ll see them as a threat to you. And he won’t stop until they put him down.”
Ethan slowly rose. Thor whimpered—a heartbreaking, choking sound—pressing himself into Ethan’s legs as if begging him not to go.
Ethan knelt once more, cupping Thor’s face gently in his hands. “I’ll come back,” Ethan murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I promise.”
Thor whined louder, nudging Ethan frantically, refusing to let go. Karen tugged softly. Ethan stepped away.
The moment Ethan crossed the threshold and the gate clanged shut, Thor’s entire body changed. His ears pinned back. His breath hitched. His eyes went wild.
Then the breakdown began.
Thor hurled himself at the bars with terrifying power. He snarled, barked, and smashed his body against the cage so violently the steel rattled in the frame. The handlers shouted orders. Karen gasped. Halvorsen swore under his breath.
Thor wasn’t attacking. He was grieving in the only way he knew how. Desperate. Violent. Heartbroken. Because Ethan was gone.
The echoes of Thor’s anguished fury were still reverberating through the hallways when a shrill, piercing alarm suddenly blared overhead, cutting through every sound like a jagged knife.
Red emergency lights flashed against the concrete walls, bathing the corridor in frantic, pulsing washes of crimson.
Karen spun around, her eyes wide. “What now?”
A handler sprinted from down the hall, his face pale. “Smoke in Wing C! We’ve got a confirmed fire! Everyone evacuate immediately!”
Chaos erupted. It was instant and terrifying. Handlers bolted toward emergency stations, fire doors slammed shut on their magnetic locks, and staff raced to guide the confused, barking animals out of harm’s way.
The smell of smoke drifted in. It was sharp, choking, and unmistakable. It tasted of burning plastic and fear.
Karen grabbed Ethan’s arm, her grip desperate. “We have to go. Now.”
But Ethan didn’t move. His head snapped toward the secured wing they had just left. “Thor. He’s in a fire zone.”
“The doors are locked automatically!” the handler yelled, coughing as the first gray tendrils of smoke seeped into the corridor. “We can’t reach him! The system seals the wing!”
At the mention of Thor’s name, Ethan’s heart plunged into his stomach. He pictured the dog—alone, terrified, abandoned again in the dark. The thought twisted something deep inside him.
Karen tried pulling Ethan again, harder this time. “Come on! We’ll get him once the fire team arrives. They have the override keys!”
“Once they arrive?” Ethan snapped, shaking her off. “He doesn’t have time!”
Another explosion rattled the building—a dull, heavy whump—as fire burst through a ventilation duct overhead. Flames licked up the metal frame, the heat pulsing outward in a physical wave.
“Move!” Halvorsen barked, ushering staff toward the exit with frantic waves. “Evacuate! Now! That is an order!”
But Ethan planted his cane firmly on the floor, anchoring himself against the tide of fleeing people. “I’m not leaving him.”
Karen’s voice trembled, hysterical. “Ethan, you can’t see! You’ll get lost in the smoke!”
He shook his head, his face set in stone. “Thor will find me.”
Before Karen could protest, before Halvorsen could grab him, Ethan turned away from the safety of the exit and ran. He bolted straight toward the thickening wall of smoke, guided only by memory, instinct, and the desperate need to not let another soldier die alone.
