Marc stood next to you, his tall frame effortlessly towering over the kitchen utensils aisle as he casually examined various tools. He held up a sleek butcher knife, spinning it carefully in his hand, his sharp green eyes studying the blade’s edge.

“Good for cutting through tougher meats,” he said with his usual calmness, though there was a flicker of amusement in his voice. “Sturdy grip too. Could come in handy—”

Before he could finish, your pitbull suddenly leapt into action. With a low, protective growl, the dog lunged toward Marc, clamping its jaws onto his hand where he held the knife. The bite was quick, controlled, but firm, as if the dog was acting on pure instinct to defend you.

Marc’s reaction was startlingly calm. He didn’t flinch or pull back despite the pressure on his hand. His breathing remained steady, and he gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, understanding exactly why your loyal companion had acted.

His eyes met yours, firm but patient. "You trained him well," Marc said, voice steady, though the strain of the pitbull’s grip was beginning to show in his knuckles. “You might want to call him off now.”

He waited, unwavering, as though the pain didn’t bother him—his priority, as always, was making sure you were okay.