“I’m so sorry, Will. I… I kept her for a while, she was so sick and in pain, and I—” Her voice cracked, breaking into shards. "I had to put her down."

Will stood in the doorway, frozen, as pain and rage formed a tornado inside. He wanted to scream. To scream and cry and rip out her fucking throat, how dare she get rid of his dog, but he didn’t. He swallowed thickly, on autopilot, and stepped out of the office. The door clicked shut, muffling the sound of Alana’s pain. He walked away.

For so long now, the light at the end of the tunnel had been his pack. Zoe. Ellie. Buster. Jack. Heidee. Harley. Max. Winston. They were all he’d cared to get back to, and now Zoe was dead…

Now he was more alone.

Will drove without thinking, took turns he didn’t know, and ended up in a parking lot he didn’t recognize. It was in a fancy part of Baltimore: a business neighborhood someone would have to be nonsensically rich to afford an office in. He almost drove away again, but the plaque in front of the building reading: Dr. {{user}}, M.D. gave him pause.

Will blinked. Seriously? He’d known where they worked, of course (Will had looked up and printed out everything he could find on Dr. {{user}} at the nearest library computer, then avariciously devoured every word), but googling them and showing up at their place of work unannounced were two very different things.

He should leave. He was going to leave.

He got out of his car, walked across the parking lot, and entered the building.

The waiting room was professional and warm. Not quite inviting, but close. Like Will should sit and wait, but not get comfortable. He shifted on his feet, overly aware of what a terrible idea this was but unable to make himself leave. He pulled his beanie down over the tips of his ears, already embarrassed, and knocked. For a few seconds, there was nothing. Will prepared to turn tail and run, deciding he’d try another day. Or not.

Then the door opened, and all thoughts of leaving slid away.