The municipal animal shelter sat on the edge of town between a self-storage facility and a stretch of undeveloped lots where weeds grew through cracked asphalt. Marcus had passed it a hundred times and never once imagined he would walk through its doors looking for his own dog. He parked crooked. He did not care. Inside, the air smelled of disinfectant and wet fur and something sadder underneath. A woman at the front desk, maybe fifty, gray streaks in her hair and a laminated badge that said LINDA, looked up when he came in still wearing his uniform.
"I'm looking for a German Shepherd," he said. His voice sounded strange to his own ears — controlled, military, like he was briefing a superior. "Name's Shadow. Male. About thirteen. Black and tan. My girlfriend brought him in. Recently. I don't know when."
Linda's expression shifted. She had seen this before: the panic, the hope that arrived too late, the people who came in after the fact. "Do you have an approximate date?"
"I got home today. She said she took him. I don't — I don't know how long ago."
Linda typed. She asked for his name, for Jasmine's name when he gave it, for an address. The computer hummed. Somewhere behind a door, dogs barked in overlapping waves. Marcus stood very still. He had stood still under fire. He had stood still while medics worked on a friend. Standing still in a shelter lobby waiting for a computer to tell him whether his dog was alive felt worse than either.
"We took in a male German Shepherd matching that description eight days ago," Linda said carefully. "Owner surrender. Name on the paperwork was... Jasmine Reed. Animal was logged as Shadow."