I’d never walked through the park at night before. My dad lived right on Central Park West—just a handful of blocks down from where we’d entered—but it wasn’t like I’d spent a ton of time there. And even though it was night—and chilly—out, the park was still crowded. There were lots of people walking dogs; people passing through, on a mission, carrying briefcases or purses; other people wandering along, more aimlessly. There were parents pushing strollers, and lots of runners. The path we were on was pedestrian only, which was a good thing, considering Brad was running in every direction, barking at every dog he passed, but always with his curved tail wagging, like he was just saying hi. For the first time since I’d been in charge of him, it felt like Brad wasn’t somewhere he didn’t understand and wasn’t wanted—he was in his element, with things to sniff and dogs to bark at and tree trunks to mark. It even seemed like he was happier—he was walking jauntily, his tail curved up high, practically prancing along.

I was surprised by how quickly the rest of the city disappeared. We hadn’t been walking that long before the noise of the traffic and the lights of the buildings were swallowed up and things were darker, and quieter.

It was very peaceful—or it would have been, if my feet hadn’t been about to go on strike.

“It’s only going to take about ten minutes to get across,” Matty said, looking over at me, then frowning. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Super!” I said, trying not to sound like I was going to cry. If a pedicab, or a horse-drawn carriage, or just someone with a bike, had come by at that particular moment, I would have lunged at it and offered all I had (nineteen dollars. And a Pomeranian.) if they would take me across the park. “Let’s go,” I said, making myself smile. It was just ten minutes. I could handle that.

Five minutes later, I wasn’t sure if I could handle it. I limped to the side of the path and rested my hand on a fence post, seriously considering just sitting down on the ground. THE GREAT LAWN, read a nearby sign, and I looked over at a dark expanse of meadow. “I just wanted to… look at this.”

I knew that I should probably keep going—that every time I stopped it would only get harder to start up again—but I just had to take a break. Brad trotted over and started sniffing around my feet, and I wondered if dogs could smell blood. They had to be able to, right? Bloodhounds had to be named that for a reason.