Sarah’s thumb hovered over the screen. “It means we don’t walk into a trap without backup,” she said, voice low but steady. “It means we stay alive long enough to get him back.” Eleanor nodded once—barely. “Call,” she whispered. Sarah hit dial. Sarah kept her phone pressed to her ear, eyes fixed on the dark line of the driveway.
Her voice stayed steady on purpose—clinical, factual, the way she spoke when someone’s pet was bleeding and panic didn’t help. “Yes,” she said. “I’m a veterinarian. A German Shepherd was stolen from my clinic while sedated. We followed the person who took him. We’re at the location now.” Eleanor held the tablet in her lap.