Wyatt blinked.
Connor climbed into the driver’s seat.
“But I signed the papers.”
The old Ford Bronco started with a rough cough.
Connor pulled out of the auction lot and onto the highway.
For the first mile, Odin threw himself against the crate.
For the second, he growled until his voice turned ragged.
For the third, he slammed his shoulder into the bars so hard Connor felt it through the frame of the truck.
Connor did not yell.
He did not reach back.
He kept both hands on the steering wheel and drove.
The road opened toward the Blue Ridge Mountains, and the warehouse disappeared behind them.
The farther they got from the auction, the quieter the world became.
At mile twenty, Odin stopped throwing himself against the crate.
He did not relax.
He did not lie down.
But he stopped fighting the metal.
Connor glanced in the rearview mirror.
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