I didn’t send it.
I saved the draft and let the decision exist without forcing it to become action.
For once, restraint didn’t feel like avoidance.
It felt like design.
My phone buzzed.
Nick’s name appeared on the screen.
NICK:Sofia wants to know if there are alligators where you live.
I looked at Ranger Wilder on my desk. The afternoon Florida sun slanted through my window, warm and gold across the polished wood. The alligator’s khaki hat sat crooked over one black bead eye, deeply unqualified for office leadership.
ME:Tell her we have one in the office. He’s currently head of HR.
A few seconds passed. My pulse stayed steady. Home moved around me in the low murmur of phones, footsteps, and Daisy laughing at something near the front desk.
NICK:Sarah confirmed the credential source. Former contractor access tied to the fence breach. Daniel has the handoff with police. All guest transfers are complete. Everyone is clear.
A second message followed before I could answer.
NICK:Reserve remains standing. Staff remain competent. Giraffes remain judgmental.
The breath left me slowly.
ME:Good. Don’t work too hard, Ranger.
NICK:Try.
I set the phone down and looked out at the palms of Maris Key. My life wasn’t smaller. It was finally the right shape.
Chapter 33
Normal Is Not a Status
NICK
Bysixinthemorning, the operations yard at Mara Khaya smelled of diesel, dust, and cold coffee.
From the fuel tank, a hose ran to the lead patrol vehicle, the metal nozzle clanking against the rim when Mbeki shifted his grip. Beneath a sky the color of old bone, two rangers checked tire pressure while Daniel stood near the eastern fence map, radio in one hand, clipboard tucked beneath his arm, listening to three voices at once and answering none until he had the shape of the problem.
Good.
The yard moved without panic. That mattered more than quiet. Quiet lied. Movement told the truth. Somewhere beyond the buildings, a bird called from the scrub.
The reserve did not celebrate survival. It adjusted.
Gates reopened under watch. Patrol routes shifted. Staff slept in pieces. Guests were moved with polite smiles and modified itineraries. Beyond the fence, the bush breathed on, unimpressed by evidence bags, blood, reports, and men who mistook a gap in wire for permission.
The bandage on my arm pulled when I lifted my mug.
Coffee. Burnt, black, useful. I drank it anyway.
Daniel looked across the yard at me. The question stayed where it belonged. Unasked.
He wanted to live.
