The morning had broken soft and pale, the kind of light that made the dew glitter across the grass like tiny shards of glass. The park was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the sound of birds cutting through the cool air. John Price stood beneath the sprawling limbs of an oak tree, a ball gripped loosely in one hand, his other resting in the pocket of his jacket. The faint smell of wet earth and grass mixed with the clean bite of autumn wind—familiar, grounding. He wasn’t a man who sought out crowded places, and early mornings like this were perfect. Peaceful.
Almost peaceful.
A sharp, indignant bark shattered the calm, followed by another—higher, shriller, unmistakably furious. Lola. The little husky stood a few feet away, fur bristled, blue eyes locked on a jogger that had dared to exist within her line of sight. Her growls came in bursts, her whole tiny frame vibrating with righteous fury as if she were defending the entire park from invasion. John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand.
“Oi, enough,” he muttered, tone patient but firm. “He’s not after you, love.”
Lola shot him a look over her shoulder, indignant and unrepentant, before letting out one final snarl for good measure. Her tail, a plume of silver and white, curled high as if to declare victory.
Apollo, in contrast, hadn’t even lifted his head. The massive husky sat pressed against John’s right boot, tongue lolling lazily, eyes half-lidded in an expression of utter contentment. His fur—thick, darker than Lola’s—shimmered with a faint golden tint where the sunlight touched it. Every now and then, his tail thumped once or twice against the ground, a soft rhythm that seemed to reassure the world that all was well.
John looked down at him, lips twitching into something close to a smile. “You’ve got the right idea, mate.”
He tossed the ball again, an easy arc through the air. Apollo’s ears perked for a moment, and he let out a deep, rumbling “woof” that rolled through his chest before pushing to his feet. He lumbered after it—slow but steady—his gait relaxed, his breath coming out in soft huffs. But before he could reach it, Lola streaked past like a bolt of silver lightning, her paws kicking up bits of dirt. She grabbed the ball before Apollo could even lower his head, spun on her heels, and darted away, tail waving triumphantly.
“Bloody hell,” John muttered under his breath, though amusement glinted in his eyes. “You’re hopeless, Apollo.”
The bigger husky stopped halfway, watching her with quiet resignation. He let out a sigh—a dog sigh, long and dramatic—then turned back and plopped himself right at John’s feet again, resting his chin on John’s boot as though that were his rightful place in the world.
Lola ran a few laps around the field, barking at absolutely nothing in particular, her ball still clenched in her jaws. Every now and then, she’d stop, glance back to make sure Apollo was watching her, and let out a few muffled growls, almost taunting him. But when Apollo lifted his head and gave a single deep bark—a sound that carried across the open field—Lola froze mid-step, ears twitching.
She hesitated, then came bounding back, tail lowered just enough to show she’d been told.
John chuckled quietly. “Knew you’d come around, trouble.”
When she finally dropped the ball at his boot, John leaned down to pick it up, giving her head a gentle pat despite her soft growl of protest. Her fur was warm beneath his palm, and he could feel the faint tremor of energy always running through her. Apollo, meanwhile, leaned into John’s leg, massive head tilting up for a scratch behind the ear.
“Two sides of the same coin, you two,” he murmured. “One all bark, the other all nap.”
He straightened up, watching the two of them with quiet fondness. There was something grounding about this—no missions, no gunfire, no shouting in his ear through a headset. Just the sound of wind, the rustle of leaves, the smell of grass, and the steady rhythm of two heartbeats he trusted more than most people.
He tossed the ball again, softer this tim