Chapter 1
Harper remained on the cold slate floor long after Silas Thorne’s footsteps faded into the cavernous depths of the estate. She didn't move toward the dog immediately. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating, carrying the weight of a tragedy she was only just beginning to piece together. Bane, the massive mastiff mix, lay motionless in the corner, his breathing shallow and erratic. He was a creature entirely consumed by his own failure. Harper knew that feeling intimately. She had spent the last three years punishing herself for not seeing Marcus's true nature before the first time he hit her.
She slowly shifted her weight, sliding across the floor until she was just inches from the hound's snout. He didn't flinch. His dark, hollow eyes remained fixed on the middle distance. Harper reached into the deep pocket of her oversized sweater and pulled out a small piece of dried beef liver she had found in the estate’s pristine, stainless-steel kitchen. She didn't offer it to him. Instead, she placed it on the floor between them and leaned back against the wall.
"I know what it’s like," Harper whispered into the quiet room. Her voice was steady, a low hum designed to soothe. "To feel like you didn't do enough. To feel like the people you were supposed to protect got hurt because you weren't fast enough, or strong enough. But starving yourself doesn't bring them back. It just lets the monsters win."
Bane’s ear twitched. A microscopic movement, but in the language of dogs, it was a shout.
Harper leaned forward, bringing her face closer to his level. She remembered the faded leather collar. The word burned into it. She knew what this dog needed wasn't pity. He needed a purpose. He was a working breed, a protector.
"Guardian," she whispered, her voice sharp and commanding.
The hound’s eyes snapped into focus. For the first time in four weeks, he looked directly at her.
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"You're a guardian," Harper repeated, tapping the floor beside the dried liver. "And he is out there entirely alone. He needs you. Who is going to watch his back if you die in this corner?"
Bane let out a low, rumbling whine that seemed to tear from the very bottom of his chest. He dragged his heavy chin across the slate. His nose twitched. He sniffed the liver. And then, with an agonizing slowness, he opened his jaws and took the meat. He chewed weakly, swallowed, and rested his head on Harper’s knee. Up in the security room, watching through the cameras, Silas Thorne stopped breathing.
