Outside, the storm greeted her like a slap. The rain had become a stinging sheet, the wind cruel and cutting. The trees writhed. She spotted the dog—its body limp, its bark gone, replaced by a low tremble. It looked like it had given up. Until it caught the scent.
The dog’s head lifted slowly, eyes dull but alert. Maya moved with deliberate slowness, cradling the foil-wrapped steak. “I’ve got something for you,” she whispered, barely audible over the wind. She unwrapped the foil, letting the scent drift forward like an offering. The dog twitched, as if pulled by it.