She straightened and scanned the lot. A minivan idled. A woman buckled a toddler. A stray cart rolled between rows. Ordinary. Still the feeling didn’t fade. Then something moved. A dark shape cut low between parked cars—fast, controlled—gone before her eyes could lock onto it.
Her breath caught. Coyote? Stray dog? She suddenly felt exposed with groceries at her feet and keys still buried in her coat. “Get in the car,” she told herself. She grabbed the remaining bags and limped toward the driver’s door. Her fingers fumbled for the keys.