The dog’s eyes were still on him.
That stare was not trust.
It was not peace.
It was the first inch of a question.
Connor understood that better than he understood most things people said to him now.
He looked back at the road.
The mountains rose ahead in blue layers under the afternoon light.
He thought of the auctioneer’s stamped file.
He thought of the men in the bleachers laughing.
He thought of the word done.
An entire room had looked at Odin and decided his story was over because the damaged parts were louder than the useful ones.
Connor knew what that felt like.
“It’s just you and me now, buddy,” he said quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”
Odin growled from the crate.
It was low.
Warning, maybe.
Fear, maybe.
A language neither of them had fully translated yet.
Connor nodded as if the answer made perfect sense.
