PUEBLO. 6:15 PM MOUNTAIN TIME. MONDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 2026. “You always said you don’t even like kids,” Leslie Antonowicz said. She had always been the practical one in the partnership. Under the table, Wonder, her immense dog, made a whimpering sound that was uncannily like agreement. “These would be teenagers,” James Hendrix pointed out. “Nearly-finished pre-people, like Patrick and his sister.” He wore his best apron. Leslie had been coming to James’s house for dinner every Monday for years before Daybreak. James loved to cook and she loved to eat, with her constant outdoor sports, running, swimming, climbing, “all the amusements of a ten-year-old boy” as he liked to tease her. It had begun just after she had gently, painfully let him know that they were friends forever but a twenty-five-year age gap was just too much; now, both their distant families had been missing since Daybreak, and each was as much family as the other had.
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