Somehow it had made its way back; through fences, through patrols, across kilometers of open land and forest. She stepped closer, almost involuntarily, until her reflection touched the glass. “How did you…” she whispered. The cub blinked, ears twitching toward the sound of her voice. Then, without warning, it turned sharply toward the trees.
The forest behind it seemed to shift. A faint rustle, heavier than wind. Leaves moved in a slow ripple. Catherine’s skin prickled. That was no small animal. Her instincts took over. She backed away from the window, heart pounding. The mother, she thought. It has to be the mother.