Dr. Maren moved with quiet urgency. She checked each newborn’s temperature, mouth, paws, and heartbeat. She measured the two pale pups first, then the darker four. The difference became harder to ignore with every minute. “They’re all newborns,” she said. “But these four may be slightly older. Not by much. Maybe a day.”
Ava felt dizzy. “So Luna couldn’t have delivered them?” “I don’t believe so.” The vet asked where Luna had been found, whether there were farms nearby, whether Ava had heard coyotes, seen unusual animals, or noticed anyone around the property. Ava answered as best she could, but every answer made the story stranger. There were chickens two fields over. Foxes sometimes crossed the lane. An abandoned barn stood near the creek. Ava had seen a neighbor chasing something from his henhouse a week earlier, shouting into the dark. Dr. Maren went still at that.
“What?” Ava asked. “I don’t want to guess too soon,” the vet said. But the way she looked at the newborns had changed. Her concern was no longer just medical. It was sharper now, almost investigative. She stepped out to make a call, leaving Ava alone with Luna and the basket. Luna pushed herself up, trembling, and limped toward the door. She scratched once at the tile, then looked back at Ava. Not at the babies but at Ava. As if asking her to follow.