Stay with me, please. Stay with me. Shadow's paw twitched weakly. Zuri's vision blurred. Jenna touched her shoulder gently.
Zuri, call your dad back. Tell him what's happening. Zuri nodded shakily. Her hands trembled so badly she nearly dropped her phone. She opened her messages, hit the call icon, and heard his voice go straight to voicemail.
Her father wasn't answering. He was already on his way. Her breath hitched as the tone beeped. Hey, Dad, she began, voice cracking. Shadow's getting worse.
I I don't think he can stand. Please hurry. Her throat tightened mid-sentence. She pressed a hand over her mouth, trying not to sob. I'm scared, she whispered into the voicemail.
Please come. She ended the message, her pulse thundering in her ears. Behind her, Blake muttered, This is getting blown out of proportion. Jenna spun on him. You don't get it, Blake.
You didn't just hurt her dog, you hurt a federal K9. Reed whispered, panicked, Dude, what if her dad is like an actual federal agent? Blake scoffed, but the edge of doubt in his voice betrayed him. She's lying. But even he didn't sound convinced.
The crowd shifted uneasily. Students whispered to one another while filming everything, feeding the digital wildfire that had already leapt beyond their control. Zuri stroked Shadow's head gently. Dad's coming, she whispered to him. Hold on.
Shadow let out a faint whine, the kind that crushed a heart, and the kind that would push her father over the edge when he heard it. A federal K9 had been attacked, and three reckless boys had just kicked law in the face without realizing it. This was no longer just bullying. This was a federal crime, and justice was already on the road, speeding toward Brentwood gas stop. This was only the beginning.
The chaos of the gas station blurred into background noise as Zuri clutched her phone with trembling fingers. Students whispered. Blake argued with Connor. Reed kept glancing at his live stream, unsure whether to shut it down or keep it rolling. But, Zuri heard none of it.
All she heard was the ringing. One ring. Two. Three. Every second scraped against her nerves like broken glass.
Shadow's breathing grew shallower. His paw twitched again, weaker this time. Zuri pressed her forehead to his, whispering, "Hold on, boy. Please, just hold on." On the fourth ring, someone picked up. "Zuri?" Her father's voice came through warm, steady, carrying that familiar softness he rarely showed anyone but her.
"I'm still driving back from the base. What's wrong?" For a heartbeat, she nearly broke. "Dad," she whispered. Shadow whimpered. A thin, pained cry leaking through her speaker.
Malik Ward went silent. Completely silent. It was the kind of silence that didn't just fill the space, it owned it. "Zuri?" He repeated, but his voice shifted lower, sharper. "Tell me what happened.
He He can't stand. She stammered. They kicked him, Dad. Blake kicked him. He knocked him down so hard he hasn't gotten up.
There was movement on the other end. A chair scraping. Footsteps. The sound of a switch being flicked. Shadow whined again.
Malik inhaled sharply through his nose. Then Zuri heard laughter. Reed's voice, loud, taunting, unmistakable. Hey, she's crying again. Get this on camera.
Her dog's dying or something. Another voice chimed, in Blake's smug tone dripping with cruelty. If the mutt can't handle one kick, maybe it shouldn't be out here in public. Zuri didn't even know her phone could capture all of that so clearly. But it did.
And so did her father. The temperature in the room on his end seemed to drop several degrees as he listened. Zuri could hear the change not through words, but through the controlled, lethal stillness in his breathing. Are those the boys hurting Shadow? Malik asked.
Yes. She whispered. They They're still here. And you? Malik's tone sharpened.
Are you hurt? No. No. I'm okay. But Dad, she swallowed hard.
Shadow's not. Malik exhaled slowly. A calm, measured release of air that sounded nothing like calmness. It sounded like a man locking his emotions behind a steel door so something far more dangerous could emerge. Listen to me, Zuri.
He said quietly. Too quietly. I want you to stay exactly where you are. Do not try to move him. I won't.
She said. Tears burning behind her eyes. She could hear faint background noises on his end, multiple keyboards, shifting screens, a low hum of machinery. Malik was not sitting in a car. He was not on the road.
He was somewhere with access, somewhere with authority, somewhere where a single command could move entire operations. "Shadow's breathing is irregular." Zuri said, voice trembling. "I don't know what to do. He's shaking, Dad. I'm scared." Malik didn't raise his voice.
He didn't panic. He didn't ask unnecessary questions. What he did next was far worse. He switched personas. "One second." Zuri was talking to her father, the man who patched her scraped knees, taught her how to tie fishing knots, and left encouraging notes in her backpack every Monday morning.
The next second, she was speaking to Agent Ward, the federal counterterrorism officer capable of dismantling extremist cells with nothing more than a headset and a quiet command. "Zuri." He said, and this time his voice carried the weight of command briefings, tactical urgency, and controlled rage. "Tell me your exact location." She blinked. "Wha- what?" "Your location." He repeated. "Precise.
Landmarks. People around you. I need details." Zuri startled at the shift. "Brentwood gas stop near the car wash entrance. The crowd is growing." "Good girl." He said softly, but the softness didn't warm her.
It sharpened instead, like he was slotting each piece of information into an invisible map. She heard more clicking in the background, fast, rhythmic, systems coming online. "Dad, what are you doing?" She whispered. "Finding you." Zuri froze. On the other end of the call, Malik Ward stood inside a secure tactical operations room, one reserved for high-level surveillance coordination.
Monitors illuminated his face with cold blue light. Live feeds rotated through his screens, traffic cams, city surveillance, departmental channels. He typed with surgical precision, pulling up the city grid. Brentwood gas stop, he repeated under his breath. Sector 12, camera node A 4 A screen blinked, adjusted, sharpened, and the gas station appeared.