The sound is distant, muffled by voices, but itsends a jolt through me like lightning striking bone.
A familiar bark.
I’m out of bed before I can think, my bare feethitting the cold flooras I rush towards the hallway. My pulse thrums in my ears as I follow the sound,barely registering the surprised glances of passing house staff.
Another bark.
Louder this time. Closer.
I don’t stop running.My legs move on instinct, carrying me down the grand staircase, through the dimly lit corridors, past the portraits of ancestors I don’t know.
And then, as I round the corner into the foyer, I see him.
Axle.
He stands in the center of the grand entryway, his tailwagging so fast his entire body sways with it.His ears perk up the moment he sees me, and then…
He launches himself forward.
A sharp sob bursts from my throat as I drop to my knees,arms open wide as Axle barrels into me.His pawsslam against my chest, nearly knocking me over as his tailwhips wildly against the marble floor.
“Oh my God,” I whisper,burying my face into his thick fur.“Axle.”
He’s warm, solid, real.
His tongue drags sloppily across my cheek,his breath hot and familiar.He smells like the city, like wind and pavement and the faintest hint of Sin’s cologne.Tears burn at the edges of my eyes as I grip his fur tighter, as if he might disappear if I let go.
He whines,low and urgent, as if scolding me for leaving.
“I know,” I choke out, running my hands over his broad head, down his sturdy shoulders. “I missed you too.”
I missed you so much.
He nudges my cheek, licking at the salty tracks of my tears, his whole body vibrating with excitement.
My fingers graze somethingunusualagainst his collar.
I pull back slightly, just enough to see thesmall, folded note attached to the leather.My hands tremble as I pluck it free, my heartbeat pounding against my ribs like a war drum.
I know this paper.
I know this handwriting.
He misses you. We both do.
The breath in my chestcatches, fractures, shatters.
I read it again, as if the words might change.As if I’m imagining them.
But I’m not.
Sin.
Iknow his handwriting like I know my own name.The sharp slant of the letters, the way the ink presses deeper in certain strokes.Every piece of him is etched into my soul, and now it’s right here, in my hands.
My fingers tighten around the note as something hot and aching rises in my throat.
He sent Axle to me.
