Ethan had worked at the zoo for nearly twenty years, long enough to know its rhythms the way sailors know tides. Mornings belonged to him, before visitors trickled in and the air filled with chatter. He liked the quiet hours best; keys at his hip, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and the faint chorus of animals stirring behind bars and mesh.
On one such morning, with mist still curled low across the walkways, he heard it: a faint rustle near the service gate. He expected raccoons scavenging in the bins, but when he turned, two amber eyes blinked back at him from the shadows. A dog crouched near the dumpster, ribs showing, fur matted from rain and dirt.