Miller left the hospital an hour later. He walked out into the parking lot where the sun was finally shining, bright and clear. The gray overcast had burned off.
He unlocked the cruiser and let Duke out for a stretch. The dog trotted around, sniffing a discarded wrapper, wagging his tail. He was just a dog again.
But to eight families, he was a savior. Miller knelt down and scratched Duke behind the ears, right in the spot he loved.
«You did good, buddy,» Miller whispered. «We did good.»
He stood up, looking at the highway that ran past the hospital. The traffic flowed endlessly, a river of metal and glass. Somewhere out there, there were other trucks, other secrets, other victims waiting in the dark.
But for the first time in five years, the ghosts of the past were silent. Miller wasn’t haunted anymore. He was ready.
He clipped Duke’s lead on. «Load up, Duke. Time to go to work.»
The door slammed shut, sealing them in the familiar workspace of the cruiser. Miller pulled out onto the road, scanning the horizon. He was the hunter returning to his ground—not out of fear, but out of duty.
And this time, he knew he wouldn’t miss.
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