Alcyde
The morning patrol reports spread across my desk like territory maps drawn in complaint—three breaches in the western perimeter, two missing supply shipments, and a formal grievance from the Valdosta pack about our wolves hunting past boundaries. The coffee in my hand has gone cold while I work through documentation that should be on Anson's desk, not mine.
Steve enters without knocking, a privilege he's earned through fifteen years of keeping our communications running. "The Council's breathing down our necks again. Want to know why the Alpha missed yesterday's conference call."
"What did you tell them?"
"Family emergency." He sets another stack of papers on my already cluttered desk. "But that excuse is wearing thin."
I sign off on patrol adjustments, authorize compensation f
