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.
She tossed the steak two feet to the side, making sure it landed just far enough to force the dog to shift. It hesitated only for a second before inching forward, dragging its body across the muddy grass. Its mouth clamped over the edge of the steak and began tearing hungrily.
Maya moved fast, her hands steady. She crouched, wedged her foot beside the fence for balance, and pressed one hand against the wet slats, pushing them apart. With her other hand, she reached forward and gently pulled the dog’s leg free, one careful motion at a time—until it slipped out.