DAVE
Territory Lines
Morning comes wrapped in mist that clings to the compound like memory, carrying the scent of turned earth and possibility. I stand on our porch, coffee steaming in the chill air, watching Cumberland pack members arrive in waves. They move differently than they did in the hotels—shoulders straighter, eyes holding something that might become hope if we nurture it carefully enough.
"Ninety-seven confirmed for today," Cheryl materializes beside me with her omnipresent clipboard, efficiency incarnate. "Margaret's coordinating work crews. Johnny Ray and Billy Ray have the trailer repairs mapped out."
Through the mate bond, I feel Kat stirring in our bed, her contentment a warm pulse against my consciousness. Last night's activities have left us both deliciously sore, but
