Then she heard it: a faint squeak, fragile and broken. Her blood chilled. It wasn’t loud enough for certainty, but her mind supplied the rest. The soft sound of a newborn’s cry, weakened from cold, muffled under the cloth. She nearly dropped her phone.
Her knees bent instinctively, trying to lower herself, appear less threatening. “Hey, buddy,” she whispered, her voice shaky, throat dry. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The dog’s eyes glistened, jaw tight. He whined again, torn between trust and suspicion.
Slowly, she extended her hand. The dog reacted instantly, snapping his teeth inches from her fingers. Tina yelped, jerking back. But still, he didn’t leave the blanket. He planted his paws firmer, body curling closer, his growl vibrating like a living barrier.
Her chest heaved, panic clawing inside her ribs. She couldn’t shake the images forming. She relived stories she’d read—of babies abandoned in alleys and children left at doorsteps. Could this be one of those nightmares? A life discarded, left to fate? Her heart thudded painfully.
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