I walked across the court with Titan at my side. Every step felt unreal. Students leaned away to make room, though Titan ignored them completely.
When I reached my mother, she placed one hand briefly on my shoulder.
Not dramatic.
Not sentimental.
Just steady.
Then she looked at Titan.
“Guard.”
Titan moved.
He crossed in front of me and sat facing outward, body aligned perfectly between me and the crowd.
A protective position.
Several students whispered.
My mother looked at Lieutenant Carter.
“This dog is not a pet. He is retired from military working service after sustaining injuries during an overseas recovery operation. He responds to Mason because Mason helped rehabilitate him.”
Carter stared at Titan.
Then at me.
Something like shame flickered across his face.
Too late.
My mother continued.
“The fifty dogs here today are part of a rehabilitation and advanced obedience program for military working canines transitioning between service roles. Mason has trained with them for two years.”
The gym shifted again.
That was my secret.
Not the Trident.
Not the scars.
Mine.
I looked down, uncomfortable.
My mother had warned me that people admire discipline only after they understand its value. Before that, they call it strange.
Master Sergeant Vale gave a sharp whistle.
One of the Malinois rose and trotted toward the center of the gym carrying a small pouch in its mouth. It stopped before my mother and sat.
She took the pouch and handed it to me.
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