“But no one’s… taken them?”

“I mean, they’re his dogs,” she said, as if that answered everything.

I walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back.

Down the block, near the yellow caution tape, the dogs sat inside makeshift crates. They were muzzled, silent, and watching the house with unblinking eyes.

They didn’t bark. They didn’t whimper. They just… waited.

I stepped up to one of the firefighters. He looked exhausted, soot streaked across his cheek.

“I can take them,” I said.

“But do you have experience with dogs this size?” he asked, hesitating.

“Yes,” I lied, my pulse racing.

“Their names are Balthazar, Ruth, and Comet. Their owner made sure we knew their names,” he said, looking me over and nodding. “They’ve been relatively calm so far, but they’re shaken, of course.”