Page 82 of We Are Just Us

“Make it quick,” he said, leaving the door cracked.

Hank trotted out into the darkness, tail up, purpose in his stride.

Kieran walked to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, drank it standing at the sink while staring blankly at the microwave clock. The numbers glowed an accusatory green. The house was quiet in that thick, cotton-wrapped way that only happened in the dead of night.

A few minutes passed.

Long enough that his brain started to wake up a little. Long enough to register that Hank usually came back by now. Usually scratched at the door or jingled his collar near the threshold.

Kieran set the glass down and walked back to the door, peering out into the yard.

“Hank?” he called softly, not wanting to wake the neighbors.

Nothing.

He stepped outside, bare feet hitting cool concrete, then grass. The night air was sharp, cutting through the fog of exhaustion.

“Hank, come on. Let’s go,” he said, louder now.

Still nothing.

Kieran went back inside, grabbed his phone from the counter, and turned on the flashlight. The beam cut across the yard, grass, fence, the corner where Mabel’s toys were scattered in their usual chaos.

No Hank.

He walked the perimeter, shining the light along the fence line, checking the usual spots where Hank liked to sniff around, the bushes he’d marked a hundred times.

And then he saw it.

A hole.

Not small. Not some minor gap a dog might squeeze through if he was determined. This was deliberate. A decent-sized excavation under the fence, dirt scattered on both sides like evidence of a prison break. Fresh dirt. Recent.

“Oh shit,” Kieran hissed. “No no no.”

Hank was gone.

His hands started shaking.

His brain morphed into worst-case scenarios, each one more vivid than the last. Hank running into the street. A car. Coyotes. Someone taking him. Hank lost and scared and alone, the way he’d been when Kieran first got him from the rescue. All that progress, all that trust, gone in a single moment of carelessness.

I’m supposed to keep him safe.

“Okay,” Kieran said, his voice tight. “Okay. Just—”

He stood up too fast, head spinning, and bolted back inside.

Shoes. He needed shoes.

He shoved his feet into the first pair he found, sandals, wrong for running, didn’t care, and grabbed a leash from the hook by the door.

His phone. He had his phone. Keys. Where were his keys?

His thoughts were moving too fast, tripping over themselves. He couldn’t slow them down.

The street was empty. Silent. The kind of late-night where the world had been put on pause and forgotten to resume.

“Hank!” Kieran called, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Hank, come here!”