Page 16

The first signs came quietly. It started with the bent trail signs, just off the southern boundary of the sanctuary.

Then came the scattered trash near the feeding stations, crushed beer cans, cigarette butts, an empty shotgun shell that hadn’t been there the night before.

Mason found it on his morning sweep and held it in his gloved hand for a long moment, his jaw tightening.

By noon, Natalie was called to the enclosure housing the recovering fox kits.

The perimeter fence had been tampered with.

A metal latch, once sturdy, had been loosened with bolt cutters, likely during the night.

Nothing inside was damaged. The foxes were unharmed.

But the message was clear. Someone wanted them to feel exposed.

That afternoon, Olivia convened an emergency staff meeting in the main lodge. Her brace propped beside her, she leaned forward in her chair with a ferocity that reminded everyone why she had started this place in the first place.

"I don’t care how subtle they think they’re being. We won’t be intimidated," she said, voice low but firm. "We increase our patrols. We set motion cameras near every entrance and along the ridgeline. And we contact the sheriff. Again. "

"What if it escalates?" someone asked quietly from the corner.

Natalie glanced at Mason. He stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed tightly. "Then we meet it head-on. But not with fear, with facts. With visibility. The more public we make this sanctuary, the harder it is for them to tear it down like the cowards they are."

The staff murmured in agreement. But the air was taut.

Uneasy. The kind of quiet that usually came before a storm.

Olivia, though sitting, radiated a new kind of determination.

Her recovery had been slow, but each day she’d grown stronger.

The wheelchair that once followed her movements everywhere now sat in a corner of the room, unused.

Her cane, now more of a symbol than a crutch, rested beside her chair.

"Soon I’ll be out walking the property again myself," she added. "And whoever’s doing this better hope I don’t catch them on the trail." It drew a few nervous chuckles, but beneath it, a very real pulse of dread.

That evening, Natalie and Mason drove into town to meet with the sheriff. As they pulled into the gravel lot behind the small cedar-sided building, they noticed a fresh poster stapled to the community board out front.

PROTECT OUR FAMILIES. SAY NO TO PREDATOR HARBORING

The flyer bore the image of a wolf’s snarling mouth, teeth exaggerated, fangs dripping red ink. Mason ripped it down, the paper tearing beneath his grip. The sound was louder than it should’ve been in the quiet .

"They’re using fear," Natalie said. "And they’re not even hiding it anymore."

Inside, the sheriff met them with the same tired empathy he always offered.

"I’ve got deputies doing rounds near your property lines," he said, hands folded over his belt. "But without a name or a camera shot, there’s only so much we can do. We don’t have the resources to sit on your fence line twenty-four hours a day."

"So that’s it?" Natalie asked. "We wait for them to do real damage before you step in?"

"I didn’t say that." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But this town is divided. Half the people see your sanctuary as a refuge. The other half see it as a threat to their way of life. You know how it is around here. People keep their own counsel, and they don’t like being told what’s safe and what’s not. "

Natalie’s hands tightened in her lap. "We’re not asking for round-the-clock protection. We just need help deterring whoever’s doing this before someone gets hurt."

"I’ll do what I can," he promised. "But I’d suggest you keep things calm. No escalation. The more public you make this fight, the more likely it is to backfire."

Back in the truck, Mason stared at the steering wheel for a long time, the light from the dashboard casting sharp shadows across his face.

"It’s not just the sanctuary anymore," he said. "It’s you. It’s Olivia. It’s the kids working the pens and Davey giving tours. They’re trying to scare all of us."

Natalie reached for his hand. "Then we fight smarter."

He looked over at her, his eyes dark and steady. "You’re still sure about all of this?"

She smiled, fierce and calm. "More than ever."

As they turned onto the winding road that led back to the sanctuary, a pair of headlights appeared behind them. Bright. Close. Too close. Mason’s jaw clenched. He eased off the gas.

"They’re tailing us."

Natalie turned to look. A rusted pickup truck. High beams burning through the rear window.

"Keep driving," she said. "Don’t stop."

The truck followed them for two more turns before veering off onto a side road. But by the time they reached the gates, the nerves in Natalie’s hands were still twitching. Mason climbed out first and double-checked the locks on the outer gate. Then the fence line. Then the tool shed.

When he returned, Natalie was sitting on the porch steps, staring out into the trees.

"This is only the beginning, isn’t it?" she asked.

He sat beside her, resting his hand on her knee. "Yeah. But we’re ready."

In the back of the truck, tucked beneath a tarp, were the trail cameras Mason had bought from his own money, quiet weapons in a war they hadn’t chosen but were determined not to lose.

Because in the dark beyond the trees, something could be watching and waiting and this time, Mason was sure the predators were of the humankind.

Inside the lodge, Olivia stood from her chair on her own two feet, steadying herself without help, and whispered to her reflection in the window, "Come at me, then. I dare you."

The tension didn’t ease when the sun rose. In fact, with daylight came new fears, the possibility of finding more damage, more messages left in the trees, more signs that someone was watching. But with the fear came resolve, and Natalie and Mason were up before first light, laying out a strategy .

The dining table in the main lodge became a command center. Trail maps, fencing diagrams, and digital printouts were spread across the wood grain like puzzle pieces. Mason pointed to each vulnerable area with a red marker, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Here, here, and here," he said, circling the main wildlife corridors. "If I were trying to make a point without getting caught, I’d hit these first."

Natalie nodded, tracing her finger across the path to the southern ridge. "We’ll need extra lighting near the feeding stations. Solar-powered, motion-activated. If they step too close, we catch their faces on camera."

Olivia had joined them mid-morning, moving more steadily now, her cane a companion more than a crutch. She studied their plans, her expression unreadable.

"I’m getting a list of local journalists together," she said, flipping open a notebook. "We’re going to hold a press event. Remind everyone why we’re here. We’re not the enemy—we’re the defense line between injured animals and extinction. And they need to see that."

"You’re going to speak?" Mason asked, surprised.

"Damn right I am. I may not be able to hike the perimeter right now, but I still have a voice. And I’m going to use it."

They all shared a moment of determined silence, the air between them heavy with unspoken unity.

As evening settled over the sanctuary, Mason and Natalie took to the trails again, placing cameras, checking fencing, setting new locks. The quiet between them had changed. It was closer now. Warmer.

They returned to her cabin just after dark.

Everyone else had gone to their accomodation.

Olivia had retired early, saving her strength.

The fire was low, casting shadows that danced across the floor.

Natalie sank into the couch, exhaustion rolling over her like a tide.

Mason stood nearby, pulling off his gloves slowly, watching her.

"You okay?" he asked.

She looked up, eyes soft. "I will be."

He moved closer, sat beside her. Neither of them spoke for a while.

"You’ve done more than enough today," he said eventually.

She turned toward him. "So have you. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through any of this without you."

Their eyes met, something deeper passing between them. It wasn’t just gratitude. It was something older, truer, that had been building over weeks of shared labor, silence, and mutual trust.

"We’ve been walking this same line for a while now," she said. "Both of us circling something we were too scared to say out loud."

Mason gave her a crooked smile. "Maybe it’s time to stop walking."

Natalie reached up and touched the edge of his jaw. He closed his eyes briefly at the contact.

"I want to stop thinking," she whispered.

He leaned forward. "Then let me help."

The kiss began gently, a meeting of lips that was quiet, reverent.

But it didn’t stay that way. It deepened, breath catching and releasing in unison, hands threading through hair, gripping shoulders, moving with instinct rather than plan.

Mason’s palm cradled the back of her neck as Natalie shifted closer, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

They broke only for air, resting foreheads together, their eyes still closed .

"I’ve wanted this for longer than I can admit," she said.

He exhaled against her mouth. "You don’t have to. I already knew."

When they moved again, it was in sync. They stood, still holding one another, Mason’s hands steady on her waist, her fingers dragging lightly across his spine.

He kissed her again, slower now, anchoring them in the moment.

They crossed the room in silence, the cabin creaking softly around them, the hush of the forest wrapping the building in a kind of sacred privacy.

Mason paused by the bed as if waiting for her to change her mind.

She didn’t. She reached for him instead, and he came to her like he’d been holding his breath for years.

They undressed slowly, learning each other’s skin like a story they’d always meant to read.

Natalie touched the scar along his ribs, and Mason kissed the hollow of her throat.

Their bodies came together not in rush or desperation, but in recognition of trust, of partnership, of something both tender and fiercely alive.

The first time was unhurried, breathless, and close.

They moved like they knew each other’s rhythms, like the nights spent working shoulder to shoulder had somehow choreographed this.

After, she lay with her head on his chest, his arm around her waist, their legs tangled in the sheets.

The firelight outside the door painted slow-moving patterns on the wall.

"You said you came here to disappear," she murmured.

He stroked her hair, his voice rough with emotion. "Now I want to be seen. By you. By this place."

She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "You are. Every part of you."

He pulled her in again, kissing her slowly, like a seal, like a promise.

They made love again, deeper this time, a soft ache of connection that left nothing between them but breath and heartbeats.

Long after the fire had died and the moon had crested high above the trees, Natalie drifted to sleep in his arms, her fingers still resting against his chest, as if to hold his heartbeat steady.

And Mason stayed awake for a while longer, listening to the quiet, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. For the first time in years, he wasn’t wondering what came next. He was ready for it.

With her by his side.