Then her head turned toward him, and Elias saw recognition cut through the panic. Not affection, exactly. He never allowed himself to romanticize her. But memory was there. The sound of feeding time. The smell of apples. The familiar human who had once sat outside her enclosure for weeks until she stopped growling. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Look at me. Not them.”Mara shifted down one branch. A firefighter inhaled sharply behind him. Elias lifted one hand without looking back. No one moved.
Mara climbed lower, slow and clumsy, her claws tearing shallow strips from the bark. She was too heavy for the thin branches, and every time the tree shuddered, Elias felt his throat tighten. If she fell now, the rescue cushion might help, but it might not be enough. “Easy,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You know this.” She reached the lowest branch and stopped.