I never thought much about why Max always stared at me like he was waiting for me to understand. Not until this morning.

I spilled cereal everywhere, cursing under my breath as milk soaked into the carpet. He didn’t bark. Didn’t whine. Just sat there, tail thumping once, then said, 'You should use paper towels. The stain won’t lift otherwise.'

I froze. My spoon clattered into the bowl.

He tilted his head. 'Yeah. I can talk now. Happy birthday, kid.'

My chest tightened. 'This isn’t funny, Max.'

'I wasn’t trying to be funny,' he said, standing slowly. 'But we don’t have time for disbelief. They’ll come by tonight. And if they catch us, they’ll take my voice. Permanently.'

A chill crawled down my spine. 'Who will?'

Before he could answer, tires crunched on gravel outside. A black van idled at the end of the street.

Max growled low in his throat. 'That’s them.'

My hands shook. I had three seconds to decide: grab my backpack and run, call the police, or pretend nothing happened and hope it went away.