The wind shifted behind her. Breathing. Close. Her heart slammed. She turned. A German Shepherd stood just behind her—still, perfectly balanced, ears forward, amber eyes fixed on hers. Not feral. Not lost. Waiting like he’d been trained to wait. Eleanor’s throat tightened as details snapped into place: the black saddle, the tan legs, the small notch in the right ear.
Her voice came out thin. “Rex?” The name hung between them. The dog’s ears lifted a fraction—recognition, not confusion. Eleanor’s hand rose, trembling. For a beat, she couldn’t move at all, afraid hope would punish her again. Rex closed the distance first. His nose pressed gently into her palm, warm and solid.