When the metal groaned, it sounded like a warning, like the night itself telling me no. The storm drain rattled under my grip, cold biting through my fingers. The mother dog pressed closer, her paw still resting on my wrist as if she could anchor me to the right choice. Somewhere below, the tiny cry crackled through the rain—thin, scared, and getting softer. My phone buzzed. “Ma’am, the unit is five minutes out,” the dispatcher said.“Five is too long,” I said, half to her, half to the dark. “He’s…
