DAVE
Blessed Intervention
The pre-dawn air at the Lexington storefront carries the metallic tang of coming violence, sharp enough that my blessing stirs like something alive beneath my skin. I stand in the empty parking lot at four-thirty AM, watching shadows move wrong between the recycled timber and solar panels of our almost-ready cooperative. One week until opening, but the construction crews arrive at six, and something in the earth's pulse says they won't make it if I don't act.
"You feel it too." Kat's voice drifts from behind me, her approach masked by my focus on the wrongness ahead. Nearly six months pregnant with triplets, she moves with the careful deliberation of someone carrying precious cargo that fights back. Her hand finds the small of my back, warmth bleeding through
