People in Cedar Ridge had seen him around for years. His coat had once been dark brown but now carried streaks of gray and dust. One ear folded halfway down where an old scar had healed badly, and a faded blue collar hung loosely around his neck without a tag attached.
Children sometimes left him scraps near the riverwalk.
Shop owners occasionally placed bowls of water behind their stores.
But no one truly owned him.
He belonged to the streets in the quiet, invisible way stray animals often do.
The dog stood near the entrance doors, staring at the smoke.
Then he barked once.
Sharp.
Focused.
Before anyone could react, he sprinted straight through the automatic doors and disappeared into the fire.
“Hey! Stop!” a man yelled instinctively.
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