“I b🇺ried you in my heart already,” someone whispered after believing the police dog was gone forever.

The shelter smelled like most shelters do—a mix of disinfectant, damp fur, and something underlying that spoke of too many stories intersecting in one place. Dogs barked, some excited, some anxious, some resigned.

Daniel signed the paperwork, exchanged a few polite words with the staff, and turned his chair toward the exit.

And then he heard it.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t even particularly distinct to anyone else in the room.