Ethan sat back on his heels, staring at the battered bag in the dirt. His first instinct was to leave it alone, to walk away and pretend he hadn’t seen anything. Yet the dog wouldn’t let him. It clawed at the canvas, whining, teeth tugging as if desperate to rip it apart.
“Alright, alright,” Ethan muttered, pulling the bag closer before the animal shredded it completely. He pried open the torn flap. The stale odor of damp cloth and rusted metal spilled out—along with a faint, sour tang of fish. Inside, he saw a half-split can of tuna leaking through its dented rim.