Sarah stood up, wiping her face with the back of her hand, already talking to an officer about sedation, transport, triage—how to move the dogs safely, who needed water first, who would bite out of fear. And when Rex finally stirred—an ear twitch, a slow blink—his nose found Eleanor’s palm on instinct. He pressed into her hand, weak but certain.
Eleanor laughed through tears, a sound she barely recognized in herself. “You’re coming home,” she whispered. Rex’s tail thumped once against the gravel. The officer glanced down at them. “Ma’am,” he said gruffly, “let’s get you both back to the clinic. And then… get him home.” This time, nothing was taking him away.