A small laugh moved through the bleachers.
The gavel slammed.
“Sold.”
Odin jerked at the sound.
Wyatt pulled him back.
Connor did not look at the people laughing.
One man muttered, “Idiot.”
Connor heard him.
He ignored him.
Twenty minutes later, he stood in the holding area with the transfer papers in front of him.
The holding area was colder than the auction floor.
The walls were painted cinder block.
The floor had been washed recently, but the smell of bleach could not cover the animal fear underneath it.
Behind reinforced bars, Odin paced in a hard line from one side of the enclosure to the other.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Never resting.
Never lowering his guard.
Dr. Hannah Lewis, the facility veterinarian, stood beside the metal desk with a file folder tucked against her chest.
She looked from Connor’s limp to the dog behind the bars.
