At night, he walked the paths alone, listening to the unanswered calls. Daisy whimpered, the cubs thundered against steel, and the silence afterward tore him apart. He imagined them staring at the same stars, longing for what had been stolen. His guilt grew heavier than any chain.
Visitors noticed the change. Families left disappointed, whispering that the miracle was over. Some demanded refunds, others muttered about cruelty. The director waved it off, insisting safety came first. Zachary watched the crowds dwindle, feeling as if he’d conspired to bury something extraordinary beneath bureaucratic concrete.