Somewhere overhead, the ventilation system hummed steadily, pushing cool, sterile air through the crowded space. Thesurrounding mix of scenes made my wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin.
Pampi still rode the wave of noise like a queen, occasionally turning her head as she took everything in. When the vet called our number, she didn’t hesitate.
She stepped forward with a light, confident prance, as if this whole thing had been built for her.
Jaime knelt beside her immediately, one knee to the floor, his movements smooth and unhurried. The vet lifted Pampi onto the table, checking her teeth first.
Jaime kept one hand on her back, steady and warm, his thumb making slow, reassuring circles between her shoulder blades.
“She’s calm,” the vet noted.
“She trusts him,” I said without thinking.
Jaime’s eyes flicked up to mine for half a second before returning to Pampi.
The vet checked Pampi’s gums, eyes, and joints, then ran skilled hands along her ribs and spine before lowering a stethoscope to her tiny chest.
Pampi stood perfectly still, dark eyes locked on Jaime’s face like he was the only thing anchoring her in the room.
Jaime leaned in close, murmuring praises under his breath, rhythmic words I couldn’t quite make out, but the tone wrapped around Pampi like a lullaby. Her tail flicked once, slow and content.
I watched without meaning to. There was something about the way Jaime handled a dog.
He was patient and precise. Gentle without ever tipping into softness. He didn’t baby her and didn’t dominate her. Jaime simply met her where she was.
Pampi leaned into him instinctively, pressing her tiny body closer to his steady presence. My wolf stirred, not with jealousy, but with something warmer, stranger, a sense of recognition.
The vet listened for a few seconds longer, then straightened.
“Heart sounds good. No signs of distress. Weight is excellent for her frame. This little one’s in perfect condition,” the vet said.
Pride flickered across Jaime’s face before he smothered it. But I saw it. It was brief, so brief he probably thought no one noticed, but it was real.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
As the tech marked us cleared and waved us on, Pampi gave one last affectionate lean into Jaime’s chest. Then to my surprise, she turned and bumped her nose against my knuckles.
My breath caught. Her tail swished and Jaime paused. Slowly, he looked at me.
“She normally doesn’t do that,” he said again, quieter this time.
My pulse thudded loud in my ears.
“Guess she’s got good taste,honey,” I said.
For the first time, the corner of Jaime’s mouth almost curved. My wolf paced in tight, restless circles, like it had just found a path it very much wanted to follow.
Next came equipment inspection. Collars off. Harnesses examined. Leashes measured and stress-tested. Paw grips checked. Every buckle tugged. Every clasp inspected.
A judge lifted our leash and gave it a sharp pull. “Sturdy.”
My turn with Pampi came during the paw grip inspection. I dropped to one knee beside the low exam table as the inspector crouched to examine the rubberized traction pads strapped to her tiny feet.
“Easy, girl,” I murmured, lifting one delicate paw into my palm.
She allowed it with regal patience.
Jaime leaned in at the same moment to steady her balance and my fingers brushed his. It was brief. Barely a touch, but it felt like a spark snapped between us.
