Then a voice answered from inside, so faint he almost mistook it for air moving under the door.
“Canela?”
The name changed everything.
Lupita covered her mouth, and Miguel’s hand fell from the doorframe.
“It’s Miguel,” he called gently. “We found your dog. We found the puppies. Are you Sofía?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing from the other side.
Then the lock clicked.
The door opened the width of a hand, and a young woman looked out with a face emptied by exhaustion.
She was not dramatic, not wild, not like someone in a movie hiding from a terrible scene.
She looked like someone who had run out of strength while still trying to stay polite.
Canela pushed forward with a soft sound that seemed older than pain, and Sofía slid down against the wall.
The dog pressed her head into Sofía’s lap, and Sofía began crying without making a sound.
Lupita stepped closer, holding the pale puppy.
“Sofía,” she said carefully, “we called for help. They’re coming.”
Sofía looked terrified at that word, and Miguel saw her fingers tighten in Canela’s fur.
“No,” she whispered. “Please. They’ll take her.”
