Nyla’s condition worsened in the zoo’s medical wing. Thin, frail, she lay curled in her pen, occasionally lifting her head as if listening. Keepers tended her with caution, unaware that Sahara prowled the city, inching ever closer. The bond between them pulsed invisible threads, a tether guiding Sahara homeward.
In Oakridge Park, a group of youngsters gathered for a late-night dare: to spot Sahara. They whispered nervously, flashlights slicing the dark. Suddenly, she appeared, emerging from the treeline like a phantom. The boys froze. One dropped his soda can, the clatter echoing. Sahara flinched, then bounded back into the shadows.