Turning toward the sound, Nathan saw a young man in a designer raincoat, arrogantly nudging a tiny German Shepherd puppy with the tip of his boot. The puppy, no more than three months old, trembled against the legs of an elderly homeless man who huddled beneath a soaked awning. The man’s eyes were weary, lined with decades of hardship, and he clutched the puppy as if it were the only warmth left in the world.
“Leave him alone,” the old man said, voice fragile from cold.
The young man—Caleb Thornton—smirked. His type: wealthy, entitled, and used to having the world bend to his will. “Then keep your mutt away from my car,” he sneered, kicking the puppy again.
Nathan felt a surge of anger he hadn’t experienced in years. Instinctively, he stepped forward, crossing the rain-slick street in long, firm strides.
“Enough,” he said, voice low but steady.
Caleb turned, irritation flickering to disdain. “This doesn’t concern you,” he replied.
“It does now,” Nathan answered, his gaze locked on the shivering puppy.
