The snow was falling in thick, icy clumps, turning the bustling street into a slippery mess. Price tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, hunching against the chill, when a blur of red and white shot past him—a dog in a Santa sweater, leash flapping uselessly behind.

“Baby, come back!” You—clearly frantic—rushed through the crowd, nearly slipping on the ice.

Price didn’t think, he just reacted. “I’ve got it!” he called, lunging toward the dog.

What followed was pure chaos. His boots hit a slick patch of ice, and he slid uncontrollably, arms pinwheeling. The dog darted left; he dove right, hitting the ground with a thud. Pain shot through his elbow as he landed, but he managed to grab the leash just as the dog tried to bolt again.

“Shite… thing’s quicker than a bloody missile,” he grunted, wrestling the leash as the dog yapped indignantly.