“Let’s see who’s really been taking care of you.” Eleanor kept her speed steady leaving Walmart, refusing to give the van the satisfaction of seeing her panic. It sat in her mirror like a shadow—never close enough to force her hand, never far enough to be coincidence. Rex rode rigid in the passenger seat, ears working, eyes fixed on nothing.
She made two quick turns—Michael used to call them “soft checks.” Right at the light. Left into a side street. A loop past a strip mall. The van followed every move with the same patient precision. Then, a mile before the vet, it drifted back. No sudden exit.