Snowflakes blurred the hospital windows， their dance interrupted by code blue alarms.

You paused mid-rounds， fountain pen bleeding ink across the chart.

“Dr. Shen!“ Nurse Ling burst in， scrubs splattered crimson.“Wolfdog hybrid—IED blast. Traumatic right leg amputation. BP unobtainable.“

The ER hummed with controlled chaos.

“OR prep. Now.“

The hybrid lay too still on the gurney. What remained of his right leg resembled ground meat—glimpses of bone fragments peeking through mangled flesh. His ears， matted with soot and blood， twitched with each shallow breath.

“Type O blood?“

“Crossmatched and ready.“

Your scalpel glinted under surgical lights. Shrapnel removal became macabre archaeology—each metal fragment whispering stories of fire and chaos.

“BP dropping!“

“Double transfusion rate. Epinephrine， stat.“

The defibrillator paddles revealed what the blood hadn't—beneath the grime， a face carved by Renaissance masters. Thick lashes dusted cheeks pale as the blizzard outside.

His ears finally stirred at the third shock—waterlogged flags lifting in sudden breeze.

---

The defibrillator's final jolt stabilized his vitals， though jagged bone still protruded from his ravaged leg.

“Prepping for amputation. Anesthesia ready.“

Ling handed the syringe. Cold fingers clamped around your wrist.

His cracked lips moved soundlessly. You leaned closer.

“No...anesthesia.“ Blood-flecked breath ghosted your cheek.“Scent...compromised...“

You injected the sedative into his cephalic vein， murmuring lies against his tattered ear.“Rest now.“

His hand fell limp.

#

The final suture closed at 2:47 AM.

Emergency lights revealed the metal tag at his throat:**JACE - K-9 SPECIAL OPS UNIT 0719**.

Gun calluses. Explosives expertise.

Not a prop.

#

The girl's eyes were red， and when she saw you come out of the operating room， she suddenly stood up， with lips trembling as if she wanted to say something. But the man beside her quickly pressed down on her shoulder.

He's Italian loafers squeaked across sterile floors.“Dr，I'm Qin，'That mutt's our studio asset. Minor on-set accident—“

“Explain this.“ Your gloved finger tapped Jace's military tag.

Sweat bloomed on his Gucci collar.“Retired K-9s need work too! We're rehabilitating—“

“Dr Shen!“ Ling's emergency calll saved him.

#

The parking garage's flickering lights painted shifting shadows. From around the concrete pillar， Qin's voice slithered through gasoline-scented air:

“Zoe， you're too naive.“ Cigarette ember glowing， he loomed over the cowering girl.“What were you trying to do？—if Kael finds out，we'll all be in deep shit！“

Ash scattered as he gestured.“Military dogs turn strays after retirement. I'm doing charity work here. Who'd question a mangy mutt?“ His tone softened， venomous.“But with your talent... Stick with me， I'll make you head writer. New project needs sharp minds like yours.“

Tire screeches drowned Zoe's response.

You stood frozen， winter wind carving ice between your ribs.

_Kael._

The name echoed through your skull as you tilted your face toward starless skies. Even the moon hid behind bruised clouds tonight.

The sharp tang of antiseptic mingled with faint cedar as you adjusted Jace's IV line. His lashes fluttered—ghostly movements beneath cardiac monitor's green glow.

Even comatose， his wolfdog ears remained alert， twitching at every distant footfall.

“Dr. Shen，“ Ling murmured， clutching the chart，“No pupillary response to light. His muscle mass is deteriorating—“

“Let me try.“

You leaned close to his blood-crusted ear.“Jace.“ The cardiac rhythm flatlined.“Kael's outside.“

His eyelid twitched.

Snow kissed the windowsill as you breathed against his velvety ear-tip:“Save me~''

Jace's eyes snapped open.

Pupils constricted to predatory pinpricks. For one heartbeat， you were prey.

“Safe，“ you pressed his IV-pierced hand to the mattress.“Hospital.“

His gaze roamed your face.“Doctor...?“ Voice like rusted shrapnel.

“Dr. Olive Shen.“

He struggled upright， pallor worsening.“My leg—“

The phantom limb question hung between you.

When he lifted the sheet， time fractured.

Bandaged stump. Empty space where combat boots should lace.

“I see.“ His fingers brushed the camellia pinned to your coat—crushed petals from ER's dying bouquet.“Yunnan...martyrs' cemetery...grows these.“

Monitor beeps counted the silence.

---

Yunnan's monsoons flooded his dreams.

Seventeen-year-old Jace slicing through rainstorms， Kael's laughter chasing his muddy tail. Back when explosions were puzzles to solve， when his paws ate asphalt faster than mortars could whistle. Back when his body sang with purpose.

The hospital's camellia scent had tricked him. For three morphine-hazed days， he'd believed himself whole.

Now he lay motionless， watching sunlight creep across sterile floors.

#

Rehabilitation became silent warfare.

He woke precisely at 0600. Ate every bland meal. Smiled when nurses cooed over his“good boy“ obedience.

Only during dressing changes did the facade crack.

“Pain?“ You dabbed antiseptic on weeping flesh.

He shook his head， ears flat.“Medicated.“

But you saw the bloodless grip on sheets. Saw the toilet's half-dissolved oxycodone.

“Why?“ You slammed the pill bottle between you.

His throat worked.“Scent...needs clarity.“

The military tag chimed against the nightstand as you leaned closer.“K-9 Narcotics Division. You think cartels care about retired cripples?“

His pupils dilated—predator instinct.

“Kael.“ The name hung like detonation wire.“Who is he?“

“Nobody.“ His tail brushed your wrist—apology or deflection.“Just...ghost.“

Monitor leads quivered with each false heartbeat. You almost missed his whisper:

“Can't...smell danger now. Useless.“

Outside， winter finally broke. First cherry blossoms smeared the sky pink—false promise of spring.

---

Jace's rebellion manifested in quiet acts of self-annihilation.

You crushed oxycodone into his oatmeal， watching crystalline grains dissolve like snowflakes in wartime tea.

He accepted the spoonfuls without protest， wolfdog ears twitching when your knuckles brushed their velvety curve. The heat radiating from them betrayed his fever—or shame.

“Qin lied，“ you ventured as he licked the bowl clean.“Tell me about Kael.“

His gaze traced the cardiac monitor's serpentine lines.“My parents...search-and-rescue K-9s. Died in the Yingxiu quake.“ A muscle jumped in his jaw.“Kael raised me. Named me Jace—'justice' in military code.“

The monitor beeped faster.

“Contact him. He'll—“

“No.“ His tail lashed once—finality.“Better he thinks me dead than...this.“

Dusk painted his scarred face in bruise-colored light. You remembered how he'd clutched your wrist on the operating table—drowning man's grip.

“I knew about the pills.“ His sudden laugh held no mirth.“Narcotics detection was my specialty， Doctor.“

Snow blurred the world beyond glass as he met your eyes.“Thank you...for the mercy.“

The confession hung between you—not gratitude， but absolution sought from the only witness to his unraveling.

---

You've been trying to get in touch with that girl， but unexpectedly， she contacted you first.

The park's skeletal branches clawed at steel-wool skies when Zoe arrived—a bundle of nervous tics in oversized sunglasses.

“Qin's men follow me everywhere.“ Her chapped lips trembled beneath the scarf.“But I...I was there when—“

You steadied her shaking shoulders.“Start from the beginning.“

#

“I'm just a junior screenwriter，“ she began， picking at her mittens' loose threads.“Worked every job on set—script continuity， props， even brushing Jace's tail fur between takes.“

Her breath fogged the frozen air as she recounted the film's premise:*K-9 officer sacrifices himself by running into explosion. Art imitating life.*

“Jace was perfect for the role.“ A fragile smile.“Kael practically raised him after his parents...you know.“

The memory dissolved into winter's bite.

“Then Qin demanded real explosives.“ Her gloves tightened around Starbucks cup.“'Fake ones cost triple!' he said. I thought...maybe blanks...“

The detonation had painted the soundstage in surreal hues—pink mist she'd mistaken for cherry blossoms， severed paw pads glistening like dropped rubies.

“Qin kept asking for Coffee.“ Zoe's voice cracked.“I never...I only realized then... that he was deliberately trying to distract me.

then I didn't have time to check the bomb at all……I found his tags in the rubble…”

A snowplow's distant growl underscored her silence. You watched revelation crystallize in her eyes—the moment a starry-eyed film student realized her mentor dealt in human currency.

---

Zoe's gloves left smeared mascara streaks on the park bench.“I called 911 kneeling in his blood，“ she whispered，“while Qin adjusted his Armani cufflinks.“

“He threatened me， saying the bomb was prepared by me. If convicted， it was I who blew him up……”

The memory unfolded in jagged fragments—EMTs shouting over ringing eardrums， Jace's tags glinting amid scorched prop debris.

“He said...“ Zoe's breath hitched.“'Tough mutt. Should've died clean.'“

A chill crept down your spine. The winter wind hissed through dead leaves， scraping brittle music from frozen earth.

“I'll confess.“ Her raw knuckles whitened.“Burn me in court， but the truth—“

“No.“ You trapped her trembling hands.“This is Qin's fire. We'll make him swallow the flames.“