Dr. Marsh had already lifted the prepared syringe from the tray beside the table. Her hand stopped.
She stood for a moment with the syringe in the air, looking at Rex with an expression that had shifted, subtly but unmistakably, from the composed attentiveness of a practitioner managing a difficult procedure to something sharper and more investigative.
She set the syringe down.
“Wait,” she said.
The word landed in the silence with unusual clarity. Everyone looked at her.
Dr. Marsh placed her right hand carefully on Rex’s abdomen, applying gentle pressure, moving her fingers in a slow, deliberate pattern. She paused. Moved her hand to his left side. Pressed again, this time more firmly, her eyes not on the dog but focused on the middle distance the way a person looks when they are reading information through their fingertips rather than their eyes.
Something changed in her face.
It was not dramatic. It was the change of someone who has seen something they were not expecting and is being careful not to misinterpret it.
She turned to her assistant, a young woman named Sasha who had been standing quietly by the door throughout the procedure.
“Turn the ultrasound back on. I need another image.”
