A collective sharp intake of breath echoed through the gallery. Pendelton finally looked down, his face drained of color as the committee chairman picked up the top folder, his expression darkening with every page he turned.
The hearing adjourned twenty minutes later, not with a quiet dismissal, but with the committee chairman issuing a formal order for federal auditors to seize Northbridge’s digital servers before the sun set.
We didn’t wait around for the reporters who gathered outside the double glass doors. Earl, Sarah, and I walked Rocky out through the service exit at the back of the building, where the noise of the city felt muffled by the concrete walls.
The sun was high and brutal, bouncing off the asphalt of the parking lot. Rocky walked slowly, his gait uneven, but he kept his shoulder pressed against my calf. Every few steps, he would lean heavily into me, checking to make sure I was still there—a habit from our months on patrol together, when visibility was low and trust was the only thing keeping us breathing.
Earl stopped beside my old pickup truck. He held the empty grocery bag in his hands, folding it over and over until it was no larger than a wallet.
“He’s yours now, son,” Earl said softly, looking down at his boots. “The lawyer lady says the emergency custody papers are signed. Nobody’s coming to take him back.”
I looked at the old man. His hands were calloused, stained with the engine grease of a life spent doing hard, unthanked labor. “Earl,” I said, “come home with us. Just for dinner. My mother made enough stew to feed a battalion, and she wants to meet the man who kept my brother alive.”
Earl gave a small, sad smile, shaking his head. “I got a room at the boarding house near the depot. It ain’t much, but it’s quiet. Besides… Rocky’s a soldier dog. He belongs with a soldier.”
“He survived because of a man who bought him soup when he had nothing,” I insisted, reaching out to grasp Earl’s forearm. “You’re part of this family now, Earl. Like it or not.”
