“Mm.” A rustle on his end. Probably putting on his glasses. “You’re calling about the dog treat, right?”
“Yeah. Any results yet?”
“Ran it twice to be sure.” He blew out a breath. “It’s clean, Jaime. Completely normal.”
I closed my eyes, tension bleeding out of my shoulders. “Normal how?”
“Basic ingredients,” he said. “Chicken meal, oats, sweet potato, a little turmeric. Some rosemary extract. No sedatives, no toxins, no irritants. Nothing weird.”
My grip loosened on the railing. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”
“It’s store-bought,” Michael added. “Fresh batch, if anything. Whoever handed it to you wasn’t trying to pull anything.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.
Michael didn’t miss things like that. I’d watched him handle nervous rescues, stubborn strays, dogs twice his size. He was careful. And if he said it was clean, it was clean.
But my wolf didn’t settle, still focused on the man who’d handed it over. The way he’d smiled a little too long. The way his scent had clung in my head afterward, sharp and unfamiliar.
Clean or not, something about it didn’t sit right with me. Instinct didn’t care about lab results.
“Right,” I said finally. “I’ll keep an eye out anyway,” I added, more to myself than to him.
There was a pause on the line. “You always do.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly. “And… congrats again, by the way. On getting your vet license.”
He laughed softly. “Yeah, it still feels a little weird but, yeah.”
“Also, uh, thanks for rushing this,” I added, awkward. “I know you’re busy with the new clinic. Didn’t mean to throw extra work on your plate.”
“Jaime, it’s fine,” he said, and I could picture him waving me off. “I’m up late most nights anyway. So if you need anything checked, just send it.”
“I might take you up on that,” I muttered.
“I expect you to.” He yawned. “Alright, go get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Thanks again, Michael.”
“Anytime.”
The call ended with a soft click.
I lowered the phone and stared out over the dark horizon for a moment, letting the quiet stretch around me.
The knot in my stomach had eased, but the relief that followed carried an undercurrent of shame. I’d assumed the worst. Maybe I’d even hoped for it.
A poisoned treat would have meant something solid, something I could point to and name. A problem I could grab hold of and end before it spread any further.
Instead, this was still murky and unfinished, and the longer it dragged on, the more chances there were for someone, or some dog, to get hurt.
I didn’t like thinking that way, but I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true.
I slipped back inside, shutting the balcony door behind me. The room was still dim, Chris still tangled up in his sheets like a human pretzel.
Pampi, though, was awake now. Her head popped up when she saw me, tail thumping softly against her dog bed.
“Hey, girl,” I whispered, crouching beside her. She pushed her nose into my palm immediately. I scratched behind her ears until she melted into my hand.
