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Boone’s heavy footsteps receded, leaving Jax alone with the trembling dog. Echo. The name hung in the air between them, loaded with ghosts.

“Hey, girl,” he said softly, careful to keep his tone neutral. Not threatening, not overly friendly. Just there.

One of Echo’s ears twitched slightly, the only sign she’d heard him.

Her mismatched eyes—one ice blue, one amber-brown—remained fixed on him, wary and calculating.

She’d been hurt enough to know better than to trust, but not quite enough to stop hoping.

That razor’s edge of desperation was something Jax recognized all too well.

He settled onto the concrete floor, cross-legged. “I’m not going to touch you,” he promised. “Not until you’re ready.”

Echo’s tail tucked tighter against her body, but she didn’t growl. Progress, maybe.

“You and me,” he continued, keeping his voice low and steady, “we’re both just trying to survive, aren’t we?”

The dog watched him, waiting for the moment when kindness would reveal itself as cruelty, because in her world, it always did.

Jax pulled his duffel closer and unzipped it, rummaging until he found what he was looking for—an oat bar Walker had given him during the long ride from California. He unwrapped it slowly, breaking off a small piece. Echo’s nose twitched, but she didn’t move.

“Not much,” he admitted, “but it’s what I’ve got.”

He placed the morsel on the concrete and slid it toward her with one finger, stopping well short of her reach. Then he took a bite of his portion, chewing deliberately.

“Your choice,” he said, and turned his gaze away from her, giving her the space to decide.

For several long minutes, nothing happened. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement—just a slight shift, the dog uncurling enough to stretch her neck forward, nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of oats and peanut butter.

Jax kept eating, kept his gaze averted, pretending not to notice as Echo inched forward, belly low to the ground. When she was close enough, she snatched the morsel and retreated quickly to her corner, gulping it down.

Something loosened in Jax’s chest. A tight band he hadn’t realized was there.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Her ears flicked back, then forward again.

He broke off another piece and placed it closer to him, this time. Again, she waited, watching him with those unnerving eyes. Again, she crept forward to take it before retreating.

They repeated this dance three more times, each piece placed a little closer to him, until the last morsel sat just inches from his knee. Echo hesitated longer this time, clearly torn between hunger and fear.

“It’s okay,” Jax said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’d said the same to Nessie.

As they had then, the words felt hollow—a promise he had no right to make. He’d hurt people before. People he’d cared about. How could he promise this damaged creature anything?

But Echo didn’t know his past. She only knew this moment, this offering.

She stretched forward, muscles tense, ready to bolt, and took the final piece from beside his knee.

This time, though, she didn’t immediately retreat.

She stayed, just for a heartbeat, close enough that he could see the fine scars across her muzzle, the way one ear had been notched by what looked like teeth marks.

Then she was gone, back to her corner, but her body wasn’t quite as tightly coiled. Her eyes were still wary, but there was also a faint curiosity.

Jax exhaled, surprised to find his muscles had been tensed as if for battle. He rose slowly to his feet, deliberately telegraphing the movement so he didn’t startle her.

“I’ll be back,” he told her.

He thought he saw her tail move, just slightly, but it could have been his imagination.

Outside, Boone leaned against the fence, hat tipped low against the morning sun. He straightened as Jax approached.

“Well?”

Jax shrugged. “She ate.”

“More than anyone else has gotten her to do.” Boone nodded, satisfied. “She’s yours now. Everyone at the Ridge gets assigned a dog to work with. Or sometimes a horse. It’s part of the program. Helps with the healing.”

“I don’t need healing,” Jax said automatically.

Boone just looked at him, eyes flat and knowing. “You sure about that?”

Jax looked away, jaw tight. “What am I supposed to do with her? I trained puppies in prison.” Puppies that were specifically selected for the program, free from baggage. He didn’t know the first thing about rehabilitating a dog that had been through what Echo had.

“You’ll figure out what she needs,” Boone said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Walker’s got a whole library of books on dog rehabilitation. Lila can give you pointers. But mostly, you’ll just spend time with her. Let her learn to trust you.”

What she needs.

As if Jax had any clue about that when he couldn’t even figure out what he needed.

“What if I can’t help her?”

Boone studied him for a long moment. “Then you’ll both stay broken.” He clapped a hand on Jax’s shoulder. “But I don’t think that’s what either of you wants.”