In her early fifties, with streaks of gray in her tied-back hair, she carried herself with a quiet confidence. Daniel noticed how even the other keepers seemed to stand straighter when she walked past.
She stepped to the edge of the viewing area, no dart gun, no food—only her voice. “Easy now, boy,” she called, steady and low. The sound rolled gently across the den. King’s ears flicked. His eyes lifted. For the first time in days, the roaring ceased.