During feeding one afternoon, Zachary felt the shift. The cubs crowded the meat, low growls vibrating through the floor. Daisy wedged herself in, snapping until they backed off. Their eyes flicked with irritation. Visitors clapped at the “performance,” while Zachary tasted bile, knowing they had nearly crossed a line.
The director summoned him. “It’s gone on too long,” the man said, voice clipped. “One accident, one headline, and this zoo collapses. They must be separated.” Zachary’s throat tightened. He asked for time. The director shook his head. “Nature isn’t waiting. Neither are the insurance companies.” The decision was final.