Headlights cut through the fog just before sunrise. Margaret stepped out, boots dark with dew, jaw set with the calm of someone who knew big cats by heart.
“She hasn’t moved?” “Not a step,” Ethan said. “Still guarding it.” Margaret nodded once. “Then I’ll go in.”
She eased through the service gate. A low snarl rolled from the bamboo—then softened as Margaret spoke. “It’s me, sweetheart. You know my voice.”
Crouching a few yards away, she met Shira’s gaze. “Show me.” The tigress shifted her weight, revealing the swollen flank—and the strange, dark curve tucked to her belly.
