Every rational thought told her the same thing: if an adult leopard had followed its cub here, she was standing in the wrong place. She switched off the lamp, the darkness swallowing her reflection, and locked the door with quiet precision. From the window, she watched.
The cub’s posture had changed, now low and alert. It stared into the trees, muscles tight as wire. A single sound came from the forest, a dry branch snapping under weight. Then, slowly, the cub turned its head toward her again. Its gaze held hers, uncertain, almost pleading.