They noticed the way he stood near exits and never placed his back fully to a room.
His medical file had clean language for all of it.
Recovery.
Adjustment.
Transition.
Connor did not like any of those words.
They sounded too neat for what it felt like to wake up at 3:18 a.m. with his heart hammering and the room perfectly quiet.
He had come to the auction looking for a retired working dog.
Not a perfect one.
Not a showpiece.
Not the kind of dog a private security firm would buy, retrain, and put beside a gated driveway.
He wanted a dog that knew what it meant to come home from war and not recognize the quiet.
The good dogs went first.
He yanked the catch pole too hard.
Odin stumbled sideways and let out a yelp so quick and sharp that several people flinched.
It was not the sound of rage.
