(de)extinction (Owen Grady/OC)

5: Waking

"For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack." – Rudyard Kipling

August, two and a half weeks after leaving Isla Nublar

The house was silent when Cady woke up, shifting onto her back to stare at the ceiling, the only noise stemming from the ceiling fan. Sure, her childhood mattress was comfortable, all she could think about was the bed at the Hilton. That had felt like sleeping on a cloud, light and soft, nothing like the mushy mattress she'd been in for the two and a half weeks. Blinking slowly, Cady yawned widely, then rolled onto her side as if to fall asleep again, curling into herself like a movable doll. The sunlight streaking through the wooden blinds of her window, however, planned otherwise. Sighing, Cady heaved herself up to the side of the bed, feet hitting the wooden floor with a light thump while she rubbed her knuckles onto her eyes.

After flying back from Costa Rica, she'd spent four days outside Seattle to pack up her gear and what few belongings she had there. The majority of the time had been spent just saying goodbye to the West coast, and her wolves that were being transferred to the Mid West. It had been easy, after packing everything into the bed of her Scout—three plastic waterproof storage bins and a surfboard covered by a tarp—to leave after promises to stay in touch; being a military brat with a Spartan lifestyle had its perks. It'd been just over forty-hours since she'd left Tenino after a few days of packing and prep, and on the entire way East towards Georgia she'd only stopped to eat and sleep when absolutely needed.

Leaning over to check her phone, the clock read 9:14AM, still the perfect time for coffee. Pulling on a pair of shorts, Cady began the trek down to the kitchen, her limbs popping she went. Zeus and Max, the Golden Retrievers of the house, didn't even stir as she stepped over them while heading straight for the coffee machine. Pouring in the beans and then the water, waiting impatiently for it to finish the same way she had for every morning since arriving. Her routine had been about the same for the last two weeks while at her parents'; sleeping in until about 8AM (something she was dearly going to miss), and going for a run around the property before her mother dragged her off to somewhere or another (on what Cady was fairly certain were 'Husband Hunts'), all highlighted by dodging the question of employment. It was tiresome to be a coward.

"Seems I wasn't the only one to escape your mother's clutches this morning."

Cady jumped, whirling around at the voice with the spoon in her hand clattering to the floor loudly. The noise spooked the dogs that scattered, giving a few barks of annoyance while Cady glared at her father who was leaning on the kitchen bar top, amug and newspaper in front of him. Oliver Starc was a man with an imposing presence, and it wasn't from his height. Standing at just less than 6", 1st Lieutenant Oliver Starc had wide shoulders and hands that could (and in all reality, probably had) kill a lesser man. His default facial express was nothing less than severe annoyance and, like his wife, was all dark features with close cut brown, almost black salt and pepper hair.

"Jesus Christ," she groaned shooting her father a looking then picking up the fallen utensil. Frowning she wiping off with her sleep shirt, magically clean. "You need a fucking bell, Lieutenant, I swear."

"Language," he warned in a tone that was nothing but joking as he took a seat. He sound of the newspaper crinkling was heard as he brought it up to read.

Who even reads physical newspapers nowadays?

"I learned everything from you," she muttered sullenly her attention back on her now full cup of coffee, adding sugar and creamer. Pushing off the counter with mug in hand she all but moseyed her way to the counter island to stand across from her father, by the sink. Taking a bit gulp of the hot liquid, then asking, "How'd you get out of brunch at the Club?"