Her heart raced as she passed the cages of premium dogs, decorated with ribbons and banners. Her gaze, however, was fixed on the far corner of the barn, where rusted cages sat in shadow. These were the dogs the world had discarded: the aggressive, the stubborn, the so-called “broken.” At last, she found him: a crooked metal tag reading Number 224.
Inside sat a massive German Shepherd, his coat dull and patchy, a jagged scar slicing across his shoulder. This was Shadow. To the police department, he was a failure—a dog who had not passed temperament tests and had bitten a handler after a violent ambush. But as Emma knelt in the dirt, Shadow’s amber eyes met hers, and a soft, broken whine escaped his throat.
“I knew it,” Emma whispered, pressing her forehead against the rusted bars. “I knew you were here.”
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