The blanket shifted. Not a lot—just enough for her to notice the faintest ripple under the dog’s paws. A flicker of movement. Tina blinked hard, leaning closer over the steering wheel. Had she imagined it? Or was something alive beneath the folds?
The dog growled again, snapping his head low, body curving protectively around the shape. Tina flinched, heat rising to her cheeks. This was insane. But the tremor had been real. Something was inside that blanket. She could almost hear a muffled cry on the wind.
Her hand trembled as she opened the car door. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes, each step dragging with hesitation. The dog’s eyes, shining gold in the dying light, tracked her every move. He didn’t budge or blink. His body trembled, torn between terror and devotion.
Closer now, Tina saw the blanket more clearly. It wasn’t loose fabric, tossed aside. It was wrapped, tucked, bundled. Like something small had been swaddled before being placed in the ditch. The lump beneath it rose and fell, faintly, in the rhythm of fragile breaths.
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