Every step she took was deliberate, slow, guided by a scent trail perceptible to none but her. The crowd murmured, hushed into reverence. Nyla’s faint recorded moan echoed, carrying across the night. Sahara froze, ears pricked, then answered—weak, trembling. Tom’s chest clenched. She was nearly home.
Keepers silently swung the gate open, and for one fragile moment, hope bloomed. Sahara limped forward, her tail twitching, eyes locked on the destination. Tom held his breath, urging her on with whispered encouragement. Even the officers seemed struck, fingers hovering but still, waiting for what might be a miracle.