As the van door shut, thunder rolled far off. The mastiff shifted once, sighing through his nose. He had done what they wanted of him—shown them the trail, the proof of the horror. Now, as the engine started, he pressed his head against the cage, facing east, toward the one place that still mattered.
When the convoy turned toward town, the handler said quietly, “He’s leading again. Look at him.” Valorian’s gaze fixed on the horizon, eyes steady, shoulders braced against the sway. The younger detective smiled through exhaustion. “Nope, not leading this time,” she murmured. “He’s going to his person.”