Fifteen minutes later, they reached the tree line where asphalt gave way to mud. Valorian growled low, restless. The handler unclipped his lead. “All right, hero. Show us.” The mastiff stepped forward, nose to the ground, moving with surprising grace for his size. The police dog followed, whining at his heels.
They trudged through wet brush, branches dripping, the smell of earth thick and raw. Valorian stopped occasionally, sniffed, then pressed on. The detectives exchanged looks in half awe, half disbelief. “He’s retracing it,” one whispered. The handler nodded. “Dogs remember scent like we remember pain. It doesn’t fade.”