“Well, look at this,” he said with a smirk. “Didn’t know the Army had a drive-thru.”

His buddy snorted. “I bet the dog pushes her wheels. Or maybe he’s trained to beg for attention.”

Emily kept her voice steady. “Excuse me. I just need to get through.”

One of them stepped into her path.

She tried to turn—but the third recruit slid behind her, blocking the other side. Ranger shifted uneasily, tail tucked, ears back.

Then the tallest one, the loudest one—the one who needed an audience—lifted his boot slightly and nudged Ranger’s side.

Not a hard kick.
Not enough to injure.
But enough to frighten.

Ranger yelped and pressed against her wheel.

Emily’s breath caught. The world sharpened into a painful point.

It wasn’t the act itself—it was what it represented.

Helplessness.
Humiliation.
The echo of too many moments she had survived by swallowing her pride and keeping her voice small.