Just a slow fall behind another car—and when Eleanor checked again, it was gone. The absence felt worse than the pursuit, like something stepping out of sight on purpose. Dr. Martinez’s clinic appeared ahead: brick, faded paw prints, a sign too cheerful for October. Eleanor parked close for once. Rex hopped down and stayed tight to her leg, steady as a guard.
Inside, the receptionist looked up—smiled—then froze when she saw the dog. “Oh my— Mrs. Wittmann?” she whispered, half rising. Her name tag read Lila. Her eyes flicked between Rex and Eleanor like she couldn’t decide what was real. “I need Dr. Martinez,” Eleanor said. Calm was the only thing she had left. “Now.”