Pushing through the crowd, he questioned onlookers, each politely shrugging or pointing vaguely in various directions. Nobody had noticed a puppy straying off. The raccoons had held everyone’s attention. With dread building, Marcus picked a path through dense reeds, calling Luna’s name in measured, strained syllables.
Each echo seemed to mock him, bouncing among cypress trunks. Passersby resumed feeding raccoons, oblivious to his terror. Sweat trickled down his temple as he forced trembling legs to move. Luna was gone, and each second felt crucial. Steeling himself for a frantic search, he vowed to find her.