The padlock itself is old but not welded by time.The chain is newer—galvanized links with the shine not quite scoured off.Someone cared enough to keep people out semi-recently.
Or to keep something in.
I step to the side and run the light up the seam of the doors.Two minutes with a crowbar would get me in.
“Trenches first,” I tell the dark.“Then accelerant after dawn.Not tonight.”
It’s not that I’m squeamish about fire, but I’m not going to touch a match on Bellamy land without cutting lines so clean they’d satisfy an insurance adjuster and a forest ranger.I don’t have fuel with me beyond what’s in the truck and the oil in the crankcase, and I’m not going to siphon like an idiot and leave a breadcrumb trail if I don’t have to.If Reyes wants a picture, he can wait.He didn’t saywhen.He saiddo it.
First, I want to know what I’m erasing.
And I don’t want to do this alone.
I need my older brother.
I need Falcon.
“Tomorrow,” I tell the building.
Then I walk back to the truck, turn on the engine, and begin the trek to the main road.
Falcon.
But first…Eagle.
