“Hey,” Eleanor said softly, steadying him. That was when she saw it. Beneath the collar, the fur was thinned. Not raw — but worn. There were faint scrape marks along the outer edge of the reinforced band. Tiny indentations. Scuffs. Evidence of repeated attempts to pry or rub it loose. Her stomach tightened. “You’ve been trying to get this off.” Rex stilled, panting lightly now.
Not wild. Exhausted. She slipped her fingers under the strap, intending to unbuckle it. There was no buckle. No standard clasp. Instead, her fingers found a small recessed metal seam — a locking mechanism integrated directly into the band. “This isn’t a pet collar,” she whispered. She pulled at it gently. Nothing. She tried again, harder. The strap did not shift.