Page 7 of Echo: Burn
A third stands protective near a teenage boy with hollow eyes. This one is tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in a cold way that makes my skin crawl. Clinical precision in how he positions himself between the kid and potential danger.
"She's the veterinarian." The stocky one's voice carries dismissal.
"She's a witness," the lean, feral one counters.
"She's here now." The tall one states it like mathematics. "Our problem or theirs."
"Stand down, Stryker," Kane says to the stocky one, then glances at the others. "Mercer. Rourke. We don't have time for this."
Anger cuts through fear. Before I can respond, Odin breaks the standoff.
He walks straight to the teenager, bypassing the dangerous men to approach the boy with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. The kid freezes, then slowly extends one hand. Odin sniffs, then pushes his massive head under those fingers.
Wonder mixed with grief crosses the boy's face.
"His name is Odin," I hear myself say, voice steadier than I feel. "He likes people who understand loss."
The teenager's eyes snap to mine, too old for his young face. "Khalid." He offers the name with deliberate precision, fingers gentle in Odin's fur. "He's beautiful."
"Military working dog," Stryker observes, professional assessment replacing dismissal. "Explosives detection by the training stance."
"Chemical weapons detection," I correct, surprising myself with how steady my voice comes out. Dad taught me to stand up to dangerous men, and these are definitely dangerous men. "Based on his reaction patterns and what I found in his blood work. Organophosphate compounds. Nerve agent precursors. Nothing that should exist outside military facilities."
That gets their attention. All of them focus on me with intensity that makes me want to step back. I hold my ground, lifting my chin the way Dad taught me. Never show fear. Never back down when you're right.
"The burns on his paws had trace elements I've only read about in veterinary military medicine journals," I continue, channeling clinical detachment to keep the terror at bay. "Whoever dumped him at my clinic expected me to euthanize him. Standard protocol for animals exposed to chemical agents with no handler claiming them."
"Christ," Stryker mutters. "The dog's evidence."
"The dog's a target," Kane corrects, finally pressing gauze against his head wound with more force. "Just like her now."
I clean the wound with practiced efficiency. This I know. This I can control.
"You need stitches. The wound's too deep, and you're going to have a scar."
"Then stitch it."
I thread the needle, focusing on familiar rhythm instead of chaos. "This will hurt."
"Had worse."
Stryker laughs, dark and bitter. "Haven't we all."
I work in silence for the first two sutures, letting the medical procedure settle my nerves. This is what I know. Clean the wound, assess the damage, fix what can be fixed.
"You're good at this," Kane observes.
"Former trauma nurse before switching to veterinary medicine." I tie off another suture. "Turns out I prefer patients who can't tell me where it hurts."
"Why the switch?"
The question catches me off guard. I focus on threading the next suture. "My ex had strong opinions about my career. Nursing school seemed... safer. Less threatening to his ego."
The temperature in the cave drops.
"Very ex," I add quickly. "Should have gotten a restraining order ex. Three states away ex."
Kane's eyes meet mine. "You ran down a trained operative tonight. Not much soft about that."
