Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was tiny. Invisible to most.
But Rex responded like a lightning bolt snapping to life.
He surged forward, nose lifted, pupils wide, issuing a low rumble—not aggression, but urgency. A signal response. A distress alert Rex had been trained to recognize in children under threat.
Liam stiffened. Only handlers, trainers, and a handful of specialists knew that coded signal.
“Rex,” Liam murmured, astonished, “how did she—?”
The girl didn’t look at him again. Her hand shook violently as she held onto her sleeve.
Liam stepped closer, observing details he’d missed before:
—The children’s clothes didn’t match in style or size
—None of them carried backpacks or personal items
—Their movements were overly stiff, controlled
—The woman’s grip on the smallest boy’s wrist was white-knuckled
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
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