2

  Finn slid down the slope beside the bridge, dust kicking up around his shoes. The dogs turned their attention fully toward him now, their growls deepening. They were hungry—desperate. The old woman’s grip on the broom trembled, though her eyes held a fierce, frightened determination.

  “Stay behind me,” Finn said, breath sharp but steady. He didn’t know where the words came from, only that they felt right. The old woman nodded, her voice too weak or shaken to speak.

  One of the dogs, larger than the others, stood in front—its matted fur and scarred muzzle marking it as the leader. It bared its teeth, a low rumble vibrating through the ground. The others circled out, ready to pounce.

  Finn grabbed the old woman’s broom, replacing her in front. He held it like a bat—awkward, too light, too long—but it was all he had.

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  The leader lunged.

  Finn swung.

  The broom cracked against the dog’s snout with a loud whack. The animal yelped, stumbling back, shock flickering through its wild eyes. The rest of the pack froze, startled by their leader’s sudden retreat.

  Then, as if some silent signal had been given, the dogs scattered—bolting back into the shadows beneath the bridge, disappearing among the broken concrete and brush. Only the sound of quickly fading paws remained.

  Finn stood still for a moment, chest rising and falling, adrenaline buzzing through every limb. The old woman sank to her knees, not from collapsing, but from relief. Finn gently helped her back up.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice fragile but warm. “You’re brave… too brave, maybe.”

  Finn let out a shaky laugh. “I couldn’t just watch.”

  Up above, Maxi, Ellie, and Carla stared down at him, stunned. But Finn didn’t look back yet. He was still focused on the trembling hand in his.