At the two-hour mark, Gabby dialed the number Josh had listed. It rang once—then died. The second number was switched off. She tried again. Still nothing. A cold unease crept in. Her fingers tightened around the phone. Something wasn’t right. And whatever it was, it had already begun.
She returned to the kennel, where Juno lay curled, trembling, eyes fixed on the door. Gabby sat beside him, her voice a whisper: “You’ll be reunited with your brother in no time Juno.” But the words turned to ash in her mouth. Even Juno had stopped crying—like he already understood what she was still trying to deny.
By 9:03 p.m., the sky had blackened. No message. No update. Just silence. And in that silence, as Juno stared blankly into the dark, Gabby felt a weight drop in her chest—a heavy, aching truth she couldn’t name yet, but one that shattered her in a way she hadn’t expected…..
Gabby was 25 and lived in a cramped studio above a dumpling shop in Chinatown. She loved the city’s noise, its urgency—but not everything. Her one true hatred? The overflowing animal shelters. Too many forgotten creatures. Even fewer people willing to care.
Animals had always been her constant. As an only child from a split home, she’d grown up with a Beagle named Roger. He was her brother, her best friend, her reason to smile through lonely dinners and awkward holidays. It was Roger who taught her to trust animals more than people.
After completing her vet tech degree, Gabby took a job at Angel Paws, one of the city’s many overburdened shelters. It was chaotic, crowded, and never quiet. But she didn’t mind. Here, she was surrounded by beings who needed her—and that was enough.
She loved all the dogs, but two held a corner of her heart she never let anyone see. Juno and Juniper—a Doberman mix duo with sleek black coats and loyal brown eyes. They were brought in at just 12 days old, dumped because their mother had mated with a stray.
Mutts. That’s what the note had said. Nothing else. Gabby had been furious. They were babies—blind, trembling, innocent. She’d sat with them for hours that first night, bottle-feeding them every three hours. Maybe that’s why they still followed her everywhere like she was their mother.
Now they were two years old. Still in the shelter. Still together. Always together. Juno and Juniper had never spent a single day apart. Gabby made sure of it. She brought them new toys when she could, always gave them a few more treats than protocol allowed.