She stared at it, torn. Rain pattered against her hood. The wind whipped at her coat. Thunder cracked in the near distance, and the dog flinched—but stayed. It cowered for a moment, visibly shaking, but it didn’t run. It nudged her leg again. Gently. Pleadingly.
Maya thought about the dog’s owner. It was a service dog that was tired, scared, and drenched—but still trying. Maya felt like the dog was trying to tell her something important. She sighed. “Alright,” she muttered. “You win.” She pulled the hood tighter over her head. “Show me.”