Higher up on the ridge, where jagged rocks jutted out of the mountain and gave him all the cover he needed, he watched as the first thin light of morning slid through the trees.
The sun was coming up—slow and cold—turning the fog silver and the frost pale.
He lifted the binoculars again, savoring the moment the badge turned in the light.
The stillness.
The shock.
A smile tugged at his mouth.
Message delivered.
And this… this was going to be just the thing his story needed.
Quiet as breath, he slipped back into the timber—gone before any of them ever thought to look up.
3
Special Agent Tessa Quinn — On the Road To Sylva
Early Friday morning, Highway 74 West wound through the mountains in slow, deliberate curves between Asheville and Sylva. Fog clung to the hollows, lifting in thin veils as the sun pushed over the ridges.
Tessa’s wipers beat a steady rhythm across the windshield. Tallulah’s carrier sat belted in the passenger seat, the cat a quiet lump of fur and narrowed eyes, tail flicking once with every turn.
Burke’s call still echoed in her head. He’d woken her less than an hour ago.
Human remains. Badge found at the scene—Sara Parker’s.
She’d barely been gone a week—yet it felt longer. Long enough sheshould’vestopped replaying Sylva in her head.
Not just Caitlin in the hospital bed or Burke’s face when she opened her eyes.
Scout Wilson, too.
He’d stood with her outside that remote cabin.
He’d watched over Caitlin’s Cottage.
And at the tree lighting, he’d made her laugh. For one or two brief, dangerous seconds, it had felt like something might be there if she ever let herself look too closely.
But the mountains were different.
Cases vanished up here. People did too.
That was why the State Bureau of Investigation existed.
The road curved again, the valley dropping away on her right, and her mind, traitor that it was, replayed the way Burke had looked at Caitlin the night they found her—like the whole town had slid back into place. Big, steady sheriff suddenly just a man whose world had come home alive. Tessa had watched from the edge of it all and felt something ache—sharp and quiet. Not for rings or promises. Just for someone who wouldn’t flinch at the weight she carried.
Thanksgiving Night — Eight Days Earlier
The apartment had been dark except for the low city glow filtering through the blinds.
Tessa closed the door softly behind her. The sound of her keys landing on the counter echoed too loudly in the stillness. Her boots felt heavy, soaked with cold and mountain grit. She didn’t bother taking them off.
“Kyle?”
The bedroom door opened.
