Chapter – 4 : “You Can Hear Me Now”

“…Okay.”

But this time—

There was no denial behind it.

Lina stood there, staring at the faint coffee stain like it might rearrange itself into a logical explanation if she waited long enough.

It didn’t.

The clock ticked.

Someone laughed in the hallway.

A phone rang

Normal sounds.

Normal world.

Except—

Not anymore.

Lina exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead.

“Get it together,” she muttered. “You’re fine. You’re completely fine.”

A beat.

“…You just had a full conversation with a dog.”

She dropped her hand.

“Nope. Still not fine.”

The clinic suddenly felt too small.

Too loud.

Too—real.

Lina grabbed her bag and stepped out into the hallway, nodding automatically at a passing assistant who said something she didn’t fully register.

“Yeah—mmhmm—later,” Lina mumbled, already moving.

She needed air.

Space.

Distance from… whatever that was.

The bell above the door gave another tired cling as she pushed it open and stepped outside.

The city hit her all at once.

Car horns. Distant chatter. The low rumble of traffic.

Cool air brushing against her face.

Grounding.

Real.

Lina took a deep breath.

Then another.

“Okay,” she said under her breath. “Outside. Fresh air. No talking animals. Everything is—”

“You left without saying goodbye.”

Lina froze.

Her eyes slowly lowered.

There, sitting right in front of the clinic like he owned the sidewalk—

A scruffy brown street dog.

Lean. Alert. Completely relaxed.

Watching her.

“…No,” Lina said immediately, taking a step back. “No, absolutely not. I am not doing this again.”

The dog didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“Rude.”

Lina pointed at him.

“You stay right there,” she said firmly. “And you—don’t talk.”

“That seems inconvenient.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Okay. Okay, this is—this is a stress response. That’s all. My brain is just… coping. Creatively.”

“Your brain is slow.”

Her eyes snapped open.

“You don’t get to insult me,” she shot back.

The dog stood.

Stretched lazily.

Then trotted closer—completely unbothered by her rising panic.

“You’re late.”

Lina frowned. “Late for what?”

The dog stopped a few feet away.

Sat down.

Straight posture. Calm presence.

Like he was about to conduct a meeting.

“For this.”

A pause.

Lina stared at him.

“…That doesn’t explain anything.”

“It explains enough.”

“Not for me,” she snapped. “Try again.”

The dog tilted his head, studying her like she was the confusing one.

“You can hear us now.”

Lina’s throat tightened slightly.

“…‘Us’?”

The dog’s tail flicked once.

“Animals.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” she said dryly. “I meant—why?”

“Because you’re supposed to.”

“That is not a reason.”

“It is the only one you’re getting right now.”

Lina let out a sharp breath, pacing once across the pavement.

People walked past them.

Normal people.

Not reacting.

Not noticing that she was arguing with a stray dog in broad daylight.

“Great,” she muttered. “Fantastic. I’ve officially lost it in public.”

“No one cares.”

She stopped.

“…That’s not comforting.”

“It’s efficient.”

Lina dragged a hand through her hair again, then pointed at him.

“Okay. You—talking dog. Let’s establish something.”

“I have a name.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“…And?” she prompted.

The dog sat up straighter—if that was even possible.

“Minister.”

Lina stared at him.

Silence.

“…No,” she said finally.

“Yes.”

“No, that’s not your name.”

“It is now.”

She let out a disbelieving laugh. “You named yourself ‘Minister’?”

“I lead.”

“You’re a stray dog.”

“I lead informally.”

Lina pressed her lips together, trying—failing—not to smile.

“…You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re underqualified.”

“Excuse me?”

“For this.”

He gestured—well, as much as a dog could gesture—with a slight tilt of his head toward her.

“You’re supposed to help.”

Her expression shifted.

Just slightly.

The humor faded a notch.

“…Help with what?”

The dog held her gaze.

For a moment, the sarcasm dropped.

Something steadier took its place.

“With what we can’t fix ourselves.”

The city noise seemed to dull again.

Just a little.

Lina’s arms crossed instinctively.

“That’s very vague.”

“You’ll understand.”

“There you go again with the cryptic answers.”

“You ask repetitive questions.”

She opened her mouth—

Then stopped.

A thought clicking into place.

“…The suitcase,” she said slowly.

The dog’s ears twitched.

“Yes.”

“You knew about it before I did.”

“Yes.”

“And you warned me.”

“Yes.”

Lina’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“…Why?”

The dog didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stood.

Turned.

Looked down the street.

Then back at her.

“Because that’s a small thing.”

Her stomach tightened.

“Small?”

“There are bigger things.”

A beat.

Then—

“And they’re getting worse.”

Lina’s grip tightened slightly around her bag.

“…What does that mean?”

The dog stepped closer.

Not playful now.

Not sarcastic.

Focused.

“It means,” he said quietly,

“you don’t get to ignore this.”

The words landed heavier than anything else he’d said so far.

Not strange.

Not confusing.

Certain.

Lina held his gaze.

For a long second.

Then scoffed lightly, forcing the tension out of her shoulders.

“Watch me.”

She turned.

Took one step toward the clinic door.

Another—

“A cat is about to knock over a glass inside.”

Lina stopped mid-step.

Closed her eyes.

Exhaled slowly.

“…No.”

“Two seconds.”

Her jaw tightened.

“I’m not turning around.”

“One.”

“I’m not—”

Crash.

Glass shattering inside the clinic.

A muffled shout followed.

Lina’s eyes snapped open.

Silence stretched.

Slowly—

Very slowly—

She turned her head.

Stared at the door.

Then looked back at the dog.

He was watching her.

Calm.

Waiting.

“You’re still thinking coincidence?”

Lina swallowed.

“…I hate this.”

“You’ll adapt.”

She stared at him.

Then let out a quiet, defeated breath.

“…I really, really hate this.”

The dog’s tail wagged once.

Satisfied.

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