Élodie had not planned on becoming a person who argued with a vet before noon.
And yet, here she was.
"He's… very muscular," the vet said slowly, hands still pressed against Lucien's side. "Unusually so."
Lucien sat on the stainless-steel examination table like a statue commissioned by someone with aggressive taste.
Calm. Silent. Perfect posture.
Élodie smiled too fast. "He's… active?"
The vet hummed noncommittally and pressed again. Harder.
Lucien did not flinch.
That was mistake number one.
"Hm," the vet said. "Most dogs react."
Lucien blinked once.
Élodie laughed, too loudly. "He's very brave."
The vet straightened and scribbled something down.
"Breed?" she asked.
"Mixed," Élodie said immediately. "Very mixed."
The vet's pen paused.
"Do you know what with?"
"No."
Lucien tilted his head, as if amused.
The vet circled him slowly, assessing bone structure, shoulder width, the way Lucien's weight distributed itself like someone who understood physics.
"His muscle density is closer to a working dog's," she said. "Military, search-and-rescue, that sort of thing."
Élodie's smile stiffened.
"Oh," she said. "He mostly… naps."
Lucien did not contradict her.
The vet checked the healing wound next.
She frowned.
"This should still be tender."
Lucien did not react.
"This should be very tender."
Lucien yawned.
The vet leaned back, unsettled.
"…How long ago was the accident again?"
"Three days," Élodie said.
The vet stared.
Then she pressed again.
Lucien met her gaze steadily, eyes calm, assessing.
The vet withdrew her hand.
"Well," she said carefully, "he's healing remarkably well."
Élodie exhaled too fast. "That's good."
"Yes," the vet said. "It is. Also confusing."
She stepped away and typed something into the computer with more force than necessary.
"We'll do bloodwork," she said. "Just to be safe."
Élodie nodded. "Of course."
Lucien did not move when the needle went in.
The technician froze. "Oh. Wow."
"What?" Élodie asked.
"He didn't even tense."
Lucien stared at the wall.
---
The bill printed with a cheerful whirring sound.
Élodie stared at it.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
"…Is that a typo?"
The receptionist smiled sympathetically. "Advanced imaging. Blood panels. Emergency intake. He's a very… robust patient."
Élodie laughed weakly. "That's one word for it."
She handed over her card with the resigned air of someone sacrificing a limb.
Lucien sat beside her, watching the exchange.
Very closely.
---
Outside, Élodie crouched and pressed her forehead briefly against Lucien's shoulder.
"I hope you appreciate this," she murmured. "You are officially the most expensive thing I own."
Lucien sniffed the air.
Traffic. People. No threats.
He allowed her the contact.
For now.
---
Lucien
The human's financial distress was obvious.
Lucien had noticed it earlier—micro-pauses, breath control, the careful way she pretended numbers did not matter.
They mattered.
The machine had displayed them clearly.
He had memorized the total.
Filed it away.
Currency was leverage.
Leverage was power.
He adjusted his posture slightly, projecting helplessness.
The human relaxed.
Good.
This arrangement would continue.
For now.