academy.
Sharp. Alert. Still carrying that tight posture of someone determined to prove she belongs.
In the back, separated by reinforced mesh, paced K9 Rook.
German Shepherd. Tactical bred. Precision trained.
The kind of dog the department bragged about because he didn’t do “emotion.”
That’s why Mark noticed it instantly when Rook started whining.
Not excited.
Not aggressive.
Low… almost mournful.
Rook stared straight into the fog like he’d seen something the humans hadn’t.
“You hear that?” Lena asked, her hand drifting toward her holster.
“Yeah,” Mark said,
