Rain streaked the glass as Lily stood frozen before the tiger enclosure. Inside, Shira hadn’t moved for two days. The queen of Maplewood lay pressed against the far wall, her orange coat dulled by dust and drizzle.
Beside her rock, the meat sat untouched, flies gathering in the dim light. Even the keepers spoke in low voices as they passed, casting quick, worried looks toward the corner.
Lily pressed her palm to the cold barrier, her reflection sliding across the wet glass. “She’s hungry,” she whispered, “but she won’t eat.”
Visitors laughed beneath umbrellas, drifting away as the sky turned gray. The zoo lights flickered on—thin, artificial—and for the first time, the proud tigress looked small.
