They approached cautiously.
The biker didn’t move.
The dog did.
It lifted its head slowly, eyes locking onto the approaching officers with an intensity that made several people nearby instinctively push their chairs back.
“Sir,” Mercer called out firmly, “I’m going to need you to keep that animal under control.”
The patio fell silent.
Lily looked up from the muffin she had been picking apart.
The biker turned his head slightly, his expression calm but unreadable.
“What seems to be the problem, officer?” he asked.
The voice was deep and rough, like gravel shifting under tires.
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