The next morning, Areeba couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her.
She kept checking over her shoulder, but the streets were normal. No dogs. No shadows.
At lunch, they made their decision.
They were going to the police.
The Saddar Police Station smelled of sweat, chai, and cigarette smoke. Officers in khaki uniforms moved about, shuffling papers, arguing over cases.
They were led to Inspector Rehan Malik, a man in his early 40s with sharp eyes and a salt-and-pepper beard. He looked them over with suspicion.
"You're saying stray dogs are predicting kidnappings?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Areeba hesitated. "We… we don't know exactly, but—"
Zoya pulled out her phone and showed him the news articles. Five disappearances. Each girl had worn the same color as the fabric from the night before.
Inspector Rehan frowned. He leaned back, tapping a pen against his desk.
"You're telling me that in a city of 20 million people, some street dogs are running a murder prophecy?"
Zoya groaned. "Look, we're not crazy. Just check that alley."
Rehan sighed. "Fine. I'll send a constable."
Areeba clenched her fists. "By the time you do that, someone in white will be gone."
The inspector's face darkened. He studied them for a moment before standing.
"Let's go," he said.