Sarah and Eleanor waited a beat—then crept forward until the barn wall rose in front of them. Sarah found a warped panel near the corner, a narrow gap that wasn’t meant to be a window. She leaned in first. Then shifted so Eleanor could see.
Eleanor’s stomach dropped. Cages. Rows of them. Dogs locked inside—stacked crates, padlocks, anxious faces pressed to wire. And not just two men anymore. Three. Marcus. The masked man. Another figure moving in the aisle, checking latches, pointing, counting.