Rex had always been more than a K9 partner—he was legend in the precinct, a shadow in the alleyways, a guardian whose instincts could sniff out danger before it even appeared. So when Officer Daniels burst through the doors, his face pale, voice trembling, and said, “Rex… he’s not responding,” the entire station went still. Even the hum of radios seemed to fade.
Captain Monroe shot up from his chair, nearly toppling it. “Explain. Now.”
Daniels swallowed hard. “He collapsed on the last pursuit. They’re taking him to Mercy Vet. Fast.”
No procedure, no shift rules—everyone dropped what they were doing. Rex wasn’t a colleague; he was family.