The tigers’ roars grew sharper as the months dragged on, echoing across the grounds like accusations. Zachary flinched each time, hearing not menace but longing. Staff dismissed it as hunger or aggression, but he knew better. They were still calling for her, though years had stretched the distance.
Daisy too carried her grief. She often pulled against the leash on their walks, nose twitching toward the tiger enclosures. When Zachary tugged her away, she looked back over her shoulder, eyes wide, tail wagging uncertainly. It broke him every time. He knew that she remembered. She always remembered.