Bruno threw himself across the steel threshold, teeth bared—not at the prisoner, but at the guards.

The corridor inside Greenridge Correctional Facility froze. Fluorescent lights hummed. Keys dangled midair.

“Move him,” the warden ordered.

But Bruno didn’t move.

Inside the cell stood Daniel Harlow, former Marine, inmate number stitched across orange fabric. He looked more tired than dangerous.

“Bruno, it’s okay,” Daniel whispered.

It wasn’t.

The transfer to solitary had been signed after a yard fight report claimed Daniel started it. He hadn’t. He had stepped between two younger inmates and taken the blow himself.

Bruno had seen it.

Now the dog lay flat, chin to concrete, blocking the door—whimpering.

Then he stood and stared down the hall at Officer Kellerman.

The silence cracked.

Kellerman admitted the report was wrong. The footage confirmed it. Daniel never swung.

Transfer canceled.

Months later, Daniel walked out free—early release granted after review. Bruno, retired from therapy work, walked beside him.

Some heroes bark.

The best ones refuse to move.