Registered service animals surrendered by a non-owner get flagged, she finally told us — held apart, not processed with the rest. When I ran through the doors with the surrender slip crumpled in my fist, a tech was already walking down the kennel row with a leash.

Max was in the last run, pressed into the corner, confused and trembling on the cold concrete. She lifted her graying head, and her whole body started to shake — the good kind this time.

When the gate opened she pushed her face into my chest so hard she nearly knocked me over, and I sat right down on the floor and held her and cried into her fur while the tech pretended to check paperwork so I could have the minute.

“You got here in time,” she said quietly. “A few hours either way and this goes differently.”

I brought Max home to the hotel that night. Lia was asleep when we came in, and I woke her only enough to feel the wet nose against her cheek. She didn’t fully believe it until morning.

Chapter 9 — The Reckoning

Arthur and Martha were booked that evening.