Eleanor’s hands were still buried in Rex’s fur when the first wave of relief hit—so sharp it made her dizzy. He was real. Warm. Here. Then his body snapped tight beneath her palms. A low bark rumbled out of him, nothing like excitement—warning. His ears pinned forward, fixed on something she couldn’t see.
“Hey,” she whispered, trying to soothe him, stroking his neck the way Michael used to. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” But Rex didn’t settle. He stood between her and the open lot, breathing hard through his nose, scanning in short, disciplined bursts like he was tracking movement just out of reach.
Eleanor turned in a slow circle, searching for what he’d found. Nothing looked wrong. Cars. Carts. People loading groceries. And yet Rex held his ground, every muscle coiled, as if he’d been trained for moments exactly like this. Eleanor’s joy cooled into something colder—an instinct she hadn’t felt in years: something is coming.