Rusty whimpered as Evan sank onto a fallen log. His legs throbbed, and a cut along his arm stung with every movement. The forest buzzed with insects and far-off owl calls, but everything felt too quiet—an eerie hush that made Evan's heart pound faster.
"I don't know where we are," Evan whispered, pressing his forehead into Rusty's warm neck. "I'm sorry."
Rusty nudged him, licking his cheek as if to say You're not alone.
The boy clung to him, the dog's fur absorbing his shaking breaths. Evan had always known Rusty was special—gentle, patient, a silent guardian—but tonight the dog felt like the last bright thing in a world that had gone dark.
Cold crept in. Evan's fingers stiffened, and his teeth began to chatter. Rusty curled against him, sharing his body heat. The boy's eyes drooped with exhaustion, but every time he drifted toward sleep, the memory of the crash jolted him awake—glass exploding, the seatbelt digging into his chest, his mother's scream—
Tears ran hot down his face.
"I want to go home," he choked out. "I want Mom… Dad…"
Rusty rested his head on Evan's lap with a soft whine.