Page 68 of Bound to the Marak

Alfie.

Three months. Three impossible, surreal months—and he was here. Just upstairs. Just on the other side of a door.

She reached the landing and knocked—then thought better of it and knocked harder.

After a few seconds, the door opened. A tall man filled the frame, wiping his hands on a rag. He wore grease-streaked blue overalls, and the smell of engine oil and cigarettes wafted out with him.

Darius blinked, his mouth slowly falling open. “...Leonie?”

Her name came out low, like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

She nodded, throat tight. “Hey.”

He looked her over—worn, pale, her coat rich and out of place in this old hallway—and said, “Nah, this ain’t real. You’re meant to be gone. Disappeared.”

“I was,” she said, breathless. “But I’m here now.”

A scuffle of nails on linoleum rang out from inside, followed by a familiar bark.

And then Alfie was there.

The little mutt launched himself at her like a comet—furrier, a bit leaner, but alive and whole. His front paws thudded against her chest as he licked her chin, nose, cheeks, whimpering frantically like he couldn’t believe it either.

Leonie sank to her knees. “Oh my God, Alfie—baby—oh, I missed you so much?—”

She buried her face in his fur. He smelled like dust and mechanic grease and something faintly floral. Someone had bathed him. Loved him.

Her eyes welled with tears as he covered her in licks, his tail a blur of joy.

Behind them, Darius leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching.

“I told that lil’ thing to stop waiting by the window,” he muttered, softer than before. “But he wouldn’t listen. Like he knew.”

Leonie looked up, wiping her eyes. “You looked after him.”

Darius gave a small shrug. “Didn’t think I was a dog person, yeah? But I dunno. He grew on me. He’d stare out at your flat like he was waiting for a signal or something.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I didn’t have the heart to send him off. Not when he clearly had someone.”

Leonie stood, Alfie cradled in her arms, still wriggling with joy. “I’m going to take him now. I need to.”

“Of course,” Darius said, though there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “He’s yours. Always was.”

She hesitated. “You should get one of your own. There’s plenty of rescues in need of homes.”

He chuckled. “Don’t start. I’ve already been thinkin’ about it.”

There was a moment—strange and warm—where things almost felt normal. Her dog in her arms. Her neighbor gently teasing. The hallway creaking with the old sounds of life.

Then the air changed.

He was behind her.

She didn’t need to turn. She felt it in her spine, in the pressure shift of the hallway, in Alfie’s slight growl as his ears twitched back.

Darius’s posture straightened. His eyes sharpened. “And who’s this?”

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