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It was polished, measured. The kind of voice that was once used in learned spaces.
And although he looked rough, his eyes—they were clear, sharp. Not wild or angry.
He focused on me as if he’d been watching out for me.
And then, under my stunned stare, he slowly pulled an apple from his pocket and offered it to a sleep-drowsy Lily.
She blinked at it, then at him, and whispered, “Apple…”
A dog sat next to him, unmoving, like a statue waiting for permission. She was large, maybe a shepherd mix, and her ears twitched when she saw Lily.
Her tail started thumping against the sidewalk like a quiet drum.
She stepped forward and sniffed the air, then the edge of Lily’s slipper.
“Doggie,” Lily murmured against my shoulder, barely opening her eyes.
I didn’t know what to do. Every part of me was still screaming to run, but my legs wouldn’t listen!
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