And then, he stopped.

Ears up. Muscles stiff. Gaze locked.

At first, Daniels thought Max had spotted something in the bags stacked by the conveyor belt. But then he followed his dog’s eyes—to a small child holding a teddy bear.

She couldn’t have been more than five. Red curls poked out from beneath a bright yellow bucket hat. Her sparkly pink raincoat shone against the gray of the rainy afternoon. In her arms, she clutched a teddy bear that looked like it had survived hundreds of hugs and maybe a few adventures: beige fur worn thin, one button eye missing, its belly threadbare.

The little girl stood between a man and a woman—her parents, presumably—waiting in line just like everyone else.

But Max didn’t see what everyone else saw. He saw something unusual.

Then he barked.