By midnight, she was drenched to the bone, hair plastered against her face. Streetlights buzzed overhead like tired guardians, and the rest of Maplewood slept behind closed blinds. Defeated, she returned home, praying Orion would be waiting by the door. But her house remained silent, dark, and heartbreakingly empty.
She spent a restless night pacing the living room. Sleep proved impossible. She dozed fitfully on the couch, dreaming of phantom meows and half-glimpsed figures—a small child in outdated clothes, darting through the shadows.