The hellhound rested its head on Berz1337’s boot, and for a moment the shape of them softened: a person leaning into something terrible and loyal. “How about we try something different today,” Dr. Marin offered. “A two-part exercise: name him — if you haven’t already — and then ask him one small favor.”
Berz1337 snorted. “Names feel like contracts.”
If Kharon had a thought about the whole affair, it was this: fire can warm a room without burning it down, if someone shows it how.
On the way out, Berz1337 paused at the door. Kharon lifted his head, eyes molten but with a softness newly learned. “Five more minutes?” Berz1337 asked the dog without looking back.
Dr. Marin wrote, then set the pen down. “When he protects you by pushing others away, what does that protect you from?”