Zachary’s heart hammered. Every instinct screamed disaster. The tiger lowered its body, muscles coiled, jaws parting. Staff raised rifles, fingers tight on triggers. Zachary shouted, “Don’t shoot!” His voice cracked, torn between authority and pleading. The scene hung suspended—dog, tiger, and humans frozen in one impossible tableau.
Then, the impossible unfolded. The tiger let out a low, rumbling sound, which was neither a roar, nor a growl, but something deeper. Daisy wagged her tail, stepping closer, nose twitching. The massive cat lowered its head, pressing its muzzle against her side. The rifles wavered. Someone behind Zachary sobbed.