She followed.

Benny didn’t seem to mind. He looked back occasionally, as if to make sure she was still there, then kept trotting ahead. His fur swayed gently as he led her through an alley, past the bakery, and finally… to the storm drain.

He dropped the chicken.

Right into the grate.

Annie gasped. “What are you doing?”

Benny lay down beside the drain and peered into the darkness, ears perked and tail still.

Annie knelt down and listened. At first, she heard nothing. But then… a sound. Faint. Fragile. A soft mew.

She jolted upright.