The little boy was curled into a ball, his blue hoodie smeared with dirt and grime, his small arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Tears streamed down his soot-stained cheeks, his chest heaving with silent, frantic sobs.
"Dad...!" Milo cried out, his voice hoarse from hours of shouting for help.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. His duffel bag dropped onto the grass. His hands balled into trembling, vein-popping fists at his sides as his blood turned to pure, molten fire.
He lunged forward, fell to his knees in the grass, and tore open the wire door of the kennel.
Marcus pulled his trembling son out of the enclosure and buried him against his chest, wrapping his massive, medal-covered frame around the fragile boy.
"Son... who locked you in there?" Marcus whispered, his eyes turning bloodshot with a mix of raw agony and terrifying rage.
Milo clung desperately to his father's collar, burying his face in the blue wool: "They... they said I would ruin the party... they locked me outside so the guests wouldn't see me..."