SADIE
Morning spills across Lake Oswego like molten silver, mist rising from water that remembers when wolves drank here freely, before walls and laws and the fiction of separation. Through the kitchen window, the protesters' camp squats like a wound against the landscape—sodden tents and dead torches, their hatred temporarily drowned but not dissolved.
Steam curls from the mountain of food Eric's produced in his pre-dawn anxiety. Eggs scrambled with cream and chives heap beside hash browns crisped to gold. Thick-cut steaks bleed juice onto plates already crowded with ham slabs and biscuits drowning in pepper gravy. The kind of breakfast that feeds wolves who might bleed before sunset.
"Ninety-five omegas took sanctuary." Julie's fingers dance across her tablet screen, cataloging revolu
