The doorbell rang.
Not violent pounding.
A perfectly normal electronic chime.
Lin Wan's heart tightened instantly.
She shot a glance at Silas-the-dog.
Silas lifted his head from the floor, ears rotating sharply toward the door.
"Who is it?" Lin Wan asked cautiously, standing behind the door.She didn't dare look through the peephole yet.
"Delivery."
A deep male voice answered from outside.
Older.Calm.Steady.
Lin Wan exhaled softly.
Probably the outdoor pet mat she ordered.
She leaned toward the peephole.
A courier stood outside.
Standard uniform.Cap.Mask.
Holding a small cardboard box.
Nothing unusual.
She opened the door.
Took the package.
"Thanks—"
But before she could close it—
The courier suddenly lowered his voice and spoke rapidly.
"Miss Lin… check the bottom of the box."
Lin Wan froze.
Before she could react—
The man gave a slight nod, turned, and walked away at an unnaturally quick pace.
Within seconds, he vanished around the stairwell corner.
Lin Wan stood there, holding the suspiciously light box.
A thin thread of unease crept up her spine.
She shut the door.
Locked it.
Silas was already at her feet, nose pressed to the package, sniffing carefully.
A puzzled whuff escaped his throat.
Lin Wan tore open the tape.
Opened the box.
No pet mat.
Inside were only three items:
A worn leather dog collar.Old, but well maintained.
A small trial pack of premium dog food—the very brand Silas Moore once endorsed as a human.
And—
A thin black notebook.
No title.No markings.
Lin Wan picked it up.
Heavier than expected.
She opened to the first page.
Only one printed line stared back at her:
"He trusts his sense of smell above all else.Even above you."
Below the sentence—
A small, slightly blurred cut-out image.
A husky's face.
Blue eyes.
Three dark markings on the forehead.
Sharp.Piercing.
Cold.
A chill shot down Lin Wan's back.
She looked up sharply.
Silas was already staring at the notebook.
His body rigid.
Fur along his spine slowly rising.
A low, suppressed growl vibrated in his throat.
His blue eyes burned with something violent—
Shock.Alertness.
And—
A trace of unmistakable recognition.
"You know this?" Lin Wan asked, voice dry.
Silas didn't answer.
He moved closer.
Nose nearly touching the page.
Then—
He began sniffing.
Intensely.
Carefully.
Like a trained detection dog analyzing evidence.
He sniffed the printed words.
The image.
Every sheet of paper.
The cover.
The spine.
His movements carried urgency—
Almost desperation.
Then—
Midway through the notebook—
He froze.
His paw scraped anxiously at the pages.
Lin Wan quickly flipped to where he was clawing.
A blank page.
Except for another printed message:
"Celebration fireworks make the perfect cover.But the scent in blood cannot deceive a tracker.Beware the 'Celebration.'"
Lin Wan frowned.
"Celebration…?"
Silas Moore's last public appearance before his disappearance—
Was at a celebration banquet.
A victory party.
A celebration.
Silas's eyes locked onto the word.
And violently fluctuated.
As if something deep within him had just been struck.
A memory trigger.
He suddenly became restless.
Pacing back and forth across the living room.
Claws scratching lightly against the floor.
Uneasy whimpers escaping his throat.
He glanced at Lin Wan.
Then at the notebook.
Then away again.
Like a mind caught between fragments of broken recollection.
Lin Wan's breathing grew shallow.
Whoever sent this—
Knew.
Knew Silas had turned into a dog.
Or at least…
Knew something they absolutely shouldn't.
"Trusting smell.""Trackers.""Beware celebration."
This wasn't random.
This was a warning.
Or a test.
She flipped through the remaining pages.
Almost all blank.
Until—
The final page.
A small printed line sat in the corner:
"Old Harbor District.Warehouse No. 7.Rust and fish stench linger longest."
Old Harbor District.
An abandoned dockland at the edge of the city.
Lawless.
Chaotic.
Dangerous.
Lin Wan slowly closed the notebook.
Her thoughts spiraled.
A clue?
A trap?
Both?
Silas was still pacing, agitation obvious.
His human consciousness clearly reacting to something buried deep.
Lin Wan made a decision.
Fast. Cold. Practical.
She shoved the notebook, collar, and dog food back into the box—
And hid it deep inside the closet.
"Whatever this is," she said firmly,"we deal with it after the show."
"No distractions. No risks."
Silas stopped pacing.
He looked at her.
The storm in his eyes slowly dimming—
Replaced by something darker.
Concern.
Unease.
He walked toward her.
Lowered his head.
And gently rubbed against her hand.
The gesture carried dependence.
And—
A silent warning.