Jericho picked up the mug on the porch as he entered, slamming the door closed behind him.  Afternoon light flooded the kitchen.  He dropped his pack in the spare chair at the kitchen table and scrubbed the coffee mug out at the sink.  No use letting the coffee stains set any more than they already were -- not that he intended to apply that philosophy to the clutter clogging the rest of the ground floor up to the stairs to the loft office.   The clutter stopped abruptly a few steps up, the rest of the stairway clear and empty.

He poured himself a bowl of cereal and opened the fridge.  Realizing he had no milk, he brought the bowl to the table and sat down, picking up dry Cocoa Puffs and popping them into his mouth one by one.  He dragged over a copy of the Cobalt Gazette and browsed the opinion section, where a long-time resident sent in a letter to the editor complaining about bear activity and the problem of her neighbors leaving their garbage unsecured.  She lived near Tiff and the Deckers.

The mental image of Brian shoveling trash into his gaping maw graced his mind.

The dry cereal sucked the moisture out of him, and he found himself craving something else.  Something hot and greasy, with a side of jukebox music and conversation to get him out of his head.  He flicked one of the chocolate balls against the side of the bowl.  A side of fries would be better than this.  He needed to go to the grocery store anyway.

He left the bowl of cereal on the table with the newspaper.  He considered leaving the door open  -- maybe Sinclair would come find him again if he did.

Janie’s Diner  sweltered quietly in the late afternoon heat when he arrived, but the wave of air conditioning welcomed Jericho at the door.  He waved to the waitress behind the counter, quietly wiping down the bar to the beat of Come On Eileen playing on the jukebox.

“Jericho!”

Jericho turned at the sound of Sinclair’s voice from the corner booth.  He sat across from a small woman, her mouth stuffed with fried chicken.  Dread sank in his gut as her wide eyes met his.

Sinclair beckoned him over.  “Come one, sit with us.  I was just talking about you.”

They’re talking about him?

Jericho slid into the booth beside Sinclair and the scent of his cologne washed over him.

“Jericho, this is Ophelia,” Sinclair introduced the woman sitting in front of them.

Ophelia swallowed the chicken and followed it up with a swig of her beer.  She clocked Jericho’s trepidation.  “His sister.  His sister, Ophelia.” She grinned lopsidedly at him.

Sinclair shot her a confused look over his salad.

Jericho chuckled, tension releasing from his shoulders.  “Nice to meet you, Ophelia.  What brings you down south?”

Sinclair cringed. “It’s--”

“Oh, dear daddy tried to sell me, so I ran away to hang out with the other family disgrace,” She gestured to Sinclair with a french fry and, without missing a beat, waved down their waitress, “hey, can we get another plate of fries?”

“Sure, honey,” the waitress smiled, continuing her walk to the bar.

“Everyone here is so friendly, I don’t know why I waited for graduation to run away,” she leaned back in the booth, “so Jericho, I hear you were one of the omegas that got lost in the woods this week.”

Sinclair’s ears flushed and he sank into his salad.  “Ophie, that’s not really…”

“Oh, yeah!” Jericho said, eyes darting towards Sinclair.  He smiled to ease his embarrassment, “it’s fine, Sinclair found me in the woods the next day.  You wanna know what I saw?”

Sinclair perked up, realizing he’d never asked.  “You saw something?”

Jericho made an iffy gesture with his hand.  “Could have just been a hallucination and, I mean, take it with a grain of salt -- I’m the local freak, after all.”

“The town freak, huh?” Ophie said with a grin, “glad we’re in good company.”

Jericho returned the smile.  “I woke up in the middle of the night and walked out into the yard.  Saw this weird white-blue light hanging behind the trees.  I just ran for it, couldn’t control myself.  Something in me had to have it.”

“Like a cat with one of those feather toys?” Ophielia quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, exactly like that,” Jericho said.

“Weird,” Ophie said, “reminds me of an old folktale from the Vasterbotten region of Sweden.”

Sinclair scribbled notes down on a napkin.  “You saw a white light?  Like an orb, or a flashlight?”

“More like an orb.  What folktale?” Jericho focused on Ophie.

“Okay, so there’s this story about a spirit that called specifically on omegas with a special power to find the greatest warriors.  It’s tied in with this other myth of wolf-warriors, but it’s said that the affected person would see a bright light at night and run until they found the hero or warrior or met the wolves of Odin or something.  What happens after is different based on where you are.”

“Wolf-warriors?” Jericho’s eyes sparkled.

“It’s an old Scandinavian legend.  Y’know, warriors drinking wolf blood to prompt the spirit of the animal to inhabit them, legends of warriors being half-wolf, half-human.  It’s a pretty common trope in folklore from that area.” She took a bite out of her burger.

Sinclair and Jericho exchanged a look and Sinclair gave him a near-imperceptible shake of his head.  That was a ‘no’ on the Brian discussion, then.

“That’s interesting, but I’m personally placing my bet on aliens,” he deflected.  The waitress set down a plate of fries in front of him and he eagerly dug in.

Ophelia snorted.

“How have you been doing since you got back, Jericho?” Sinclair asked.

Jericho shrugged.  “Fine,” he swallowed a mouthful of potato, “I went for a hike today to try to figure out where you found me.”

“Did you find it?” Sinclair stabbed a tomato.

Jericho nodded.  “Five miles out into the forest.  I’m surprised you made it all the way back.  I’m not exactly light.”

Sinclair dropped his fork into his dish and pushed the salad away.  “That’s not right.  I didn’t think it was five miles.”

Jericho shrugged.  “I followed your footprints.”

Ophelia looked between them. “Five miles?  There’s no way, Clair would’ve been lost.”

Jericho nodded.  “I’m sure.  I followed his footprints in the mud the whole way,” he leaned back in the booth and, in an effort to lay the unsettled vibe to rest, “I mean, I had all night to get out there.  Adrenaline is one hell of a drug, and I bet Sinclair was still running on it.  10 missing has to be big, even in Chicago.”

“Only if they’re rich,” Ophelia joked, taking the reassurance gracefully.

Sinclair looked a little sick.  “I guess so,” he muttered.

“What do you do, Ophelia?” Jericho changed the subject.

She shrugged.  “Just got my masters in archival studies.  Shame I had to run off before I could find a job in it,” she flicked a fry into Sinclair’s salad dish, “now I’m stuck with Clair.”

“Would you have gotten a job in it?” Sinclair asked.

Ophelia threw another fry at him.  It went directly down his shirt.

“Hole in one!” She pumped her fist in the air as Sinclair dug it out of his shirt.

“I know the head librarian down at the library, could put in a good word for you,” Jericho offered, “but I don’t know if you’d want to work there, not unless you want to go digging through records for UFO chasers coming through.”

Ophelia hummed.  “I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, if you ever want me to show you around while the Sheriff over here is out working, give me a call.  I’d be happy to show you the sights, introduce you to some folks,” Jericho smiled, “least I can do.”

Sinclair rolled his eyes.  “Jericho, I don’t work that much.”

“You just worked 72 hours straight,” Jericho countered.

“He used to do that all the time at the precinct in Chicago,” Ophelia commented, “I thought you came here to slow down?”

“It’s been busy!” Sinclair shoved a tomato into his mouth and looked out the window, trying to shut them up, “we’re short-staffed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ophelia rolled her eyes at him, “you always say that.  Even when you had new hires, always under-staffed or under-trained.  I think you just like to work.”

“It’s true this time,” Jericho defended Sinclair, “our police force consists of 3 officers and Edie.  We don’t even have someone to answer the phones at night, all four of them are on-call 24/7.”

“Erin had to call me on early when something killed some cows up at the Strong ranch, we’re stretched thin,” Sinclair confirmed.

“I had no idea.  So they really needed you, huh?  Why haven’t they hired anyone else?” Ophelia’s eyes went wide with concern.

Jericho glanced at Sinclair, who was looking at him for an answer as well.  “I guess when Foreman left, they just had to focus on finding a new sheriff.  Has Erin talked to you about hiring yet?”

Sinclair shook his head.  “I don’t think anyone’s had time to consider it since I got here.  That’s the first thing I’ll have to do once things slow down.”

“You might want to talk to the mayor, I bet he’d work to increase your budget after you handled that missing persons case,” Jericho said.

Sinclair hummed thoughtfully around a mouthful of salad.  He swallowed and said, “I think I’d do better to send Erin.  I don’t know why they didn’t just promote her.”

Jericho thought about that.  “That’s a good point, why didn’t they?”

“Your deputy?” Ophelia said.

Sinclair nodded.  “She’s a hardass, has a reputation for getting things done.  I would have promoted her -- and it’s not like they hired an alpha instead.”

“W--  you’re not?” Jericho stammered.

Ophelia laughed.  “No, this guy?  Beta as can be.  Dad hates that he’s the good son.”

“Ophie,” Sinclair warned.

“Brother?” Jericho probed, leaning across the table.

“Davey.  Dad groomed him to be his pride and joy, but he’s a total deadbeat,” Ophelia said.

Sinclair rolled his eyes.  “He’s not a deadbeat, Ophelia.”

“He butchers cars for a living and lives off daddy’s money, Clair,” she shot back.

Jericho grinned, watching them argue back and forth over the table as Sinclair struggled to defend his older brother.

“It’s not his fault he’s not academically oriented.  Dad put a lot of pressure on him--” Sinclair argued.

Ophielia made a disgusted noise.  “He does not!  Every time he comes home, dad doesn’t even ask what he’s accomplished and hands him a thousand dollars.  He’s where Mustangs go to die.”

Jericho choked.  “A thousand dollars?”

Ophelia turned to him.  “At least.  Dad pays his rent, his car payments, his phone bills, his health insurance, everything.  Meanwhile, Sinclair and I had to pay our own way through college and he kicked Clair out on his 18th birthday.  The only reason he didn’t do the same for me is because, clearly, he always planned on selling me to the highest bidder.”

“He’s just trying to make sure we’re successful,” Sinclair argued half-heartedly, staring out the window.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Clair,” Ophelia said, pushing the remains of her lunch towards the center of the table.

The waitress swung around and placed the check on the table.  Sinclair reached across Jericho, the smell of him wafting over Jericho in a way that made his heart flutter.  Sinclair pulled away, leaving Jericho reeling in the absence.  He leafed through his wallet and left a pile of cash on top of the check.

“We should get home, Ophelia.  I still need to show you around and get you a change of clothes.” He motioned to Jericho to get out of the booth, and shimmied out after him.

“Alright, looking forward to seeing what Mattie’s done with that cabin.”  Ophelia stood up and stretched.

Jericho waved them off, swaying slightly on his feet, his eyes glued to Sinclair’s straight back and the stiffness with which he moved.  The waitress crossed his line of sight, snapping him out of his reverie.  He turned towards the stairway down into the bar and vanished into the cave-like hollow below the diner as the bell on the door rung, bidding Ophelia and Sinclair farewell.