That night, Maya dreamed of two heartbeats overlapping—one fading, one beginning, both trying to find the same rhythm. She woke before dawn, her own pulse racing, unable to shake the feeling that the dream wasn’t just about the girl, but about the dog, too.
The next morning, she went through Milo’s shelter file again, searching for something she might have missed. His intake date sat at the top of the page: two days before Lily’s surgery. Maya frowned. “Weird,” she murmured, tracing the line with her finger.