She crouched low, keeping her distance, straining to hear. Silence, except for the dog’s heavy breaths. Then another squeak escaped—thin, and plaintive, if not quite a baby’s cry, it was eerily close. It wavered in her ears, refusing to settle into clarity.
Her pulse raced, confusion knotting in her chest. Was it possible her mind had twisted animal sounds into the cries of a child? She pressed a trembling hand against her chest, trying to calm the quake that rattled her from within.
The dog shifted again, his tail thumping once against the ground. He looked at her, eyes brimming with something raw, almost pleading. It wasn’t aggression anymore. It was desperation, as though begging her to stay, to bear witness, to hold on until help arrived.
Tina’s throat tightened. She hugged her arms to her chest, torn between relief and dread. Maybe this wasn’t a baby at all. Maybe it was something else entirely, something still vulnerable, still in danger. Her certainty dissolved, but the urgency remained.
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