It's immediately clear I'm being followed. I worry at first it's Poppy, as she'd escaped and come after Beckett and I the night before. But when I carefully check behind me to catch a glimpse of my pursuer, I'm surprised.
The dog. He pads along from hiding place to hiding place, though he doesn't seem to want to hide from me. His tail wags once as our eyes meet, but he keeps his distance.
A companion, no matter the species, is welcome right now.
The sun shines bright and I wish I could stand in it, absorbing its warmth. But if Beckett is to be believed, such an act would be folly. And I feel I'm not completely alone. Others slink about on their own business. I catch the odd glimpse of movement ahead or out of the corner of my eye and do my best to keep my calm around me. No one has made
