BURIED WITH A HEARTBEAT

The silence inside Saint Jude’s Cathedral fractured like brittle glass.

Gabriel stood frozen beside the pristine white casket, his hand buried deep in the thick fur of his Rottweiler’s neck. Bruno’s chest rose and fell in heavy, vibrating pants, his warm nose pressed desperately against Clara’s pale cheek.

“Boss, step away from her! The dog is losing its mind!” Marco yelled, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone arches.

Gabriel didn't move. He lowered his face until his ear hovered millimeters above his seven-year-old daughter’s lace collar. Beneath the icy scent of funeral lilies and polished mahogany, he heard it.

*Thump... thump... thump.* It was faint—slower than a whisper, but unmistakable.

“Call the convoy,” Gabriel commanded, his voice dropping into a register that made the marble floor vibrate. “Now.”

“Gabriel, she’s gone,” Marco stammered, backing toward the shadow of the cathedral pillars, his eyes darting toward the heavy oak exit doors. “The coroner signed off three days ago. You’re in shock.”

Bruno turned, lips peeling back to expose razor-sharp teeth. A guttural snarl tore from the beast’s throat. Animals never lied. Dogs never mourned an empty shell when life was still trapped inside.

Gabriel reached down and scooped Clara’s limp, featherlight body into his arms. Her skin was freezing, but her tiny neck held a fragile, thready pulse. “She’s breathing, Marco. And whoever put her in this box is going to answer to God after I’m done with them.”