Tom cursed at the television. “She’s not stalking! She’s hiding from your chaos!” His calls to the police went unanswered, his warnings dismissed. Alone in his apartment, he scrawled on maps, marking sightings like constellations. A pattern emerged—Sahara seemed to be moving in a slow, curving line toward the zoo’s veterinary wing.
Meanwhile, officers combed industrial zones where sightings clustered. One warehouse owner swore she saw Sahara perched atop pallets, staring at the glowing neon sign across the street. The officers laughed, dismissing her account. By the time they bothered to look, only pawprints remained, pressed deeply into the dusty concrete.