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A green exit sign bled through the mist like a minor miracle, glowing faint and unreal. I didn’t catch the number or a city name, and I didn’t pause to question it. I just yanked the wheel like my life depended on it, because I was suddenly very sure it did.

The exit curved hard, and I hit it too fast. The back tires fishtailed, my soul ejecting straight to the roof with a very clear girl, really? before the car caught traction again.

I coasted down the ramp in near-zero visibility. The storm wasn’t letting up. If anything, it was getting louder. Angrier. Thunder cracked overhead like the sky had hurled something at the wall and missed.

The road at the bottom of the exit was darker than the highway. Just two faded lanes swallowed by trees on either side. My GPS had stopped talking to me around the same time I’d left the World’s Saddest Psychic, so I had no idea where I was.

But I didn’t care. I just needed to find a place to pull over and stop feeling like Mother Nature had decided I was the nightly special.

So I drove forward, following nothing but instinct and fear and the occasional flicker of a roadside reflector like some medieval peasant following a ghost light into the woods.

The rain kept falling. The trees got thicker.

And the name Blackwood flickered past on a rusted sign I almost missed entirely.

CHAPTER 2

STERLING

The storm was crawling down the mountain.

I could feel it in my teeth.

Out here, you didn’t need Doppler radar to know the weather was turning. You just had to pay attention. The cows grew restless. The dogs went quiet. And the air thickened with a silence that made your skin itch.

It was beautiful, though.

From my front porch, all I could see were miles of raw land and restless sky. The storm hadn’t hit the ranch yet, but it was coming fast, sweeping over the black-tipped pines like a calvary charge. Somewhere below, the edge of town blinked with light, sparse and sleepy.

Blackwood wasn’t a focal point on any map. At least not for most people.

I leaned back in my rocking chair, boots crossed and a whiskey sweating in my hand. The wood groaned beneath me, keeping time with the wind. Behind me, the main house glowed warm, with big windows and high ceilings opening into rooms that sat empty except for me and a cattle dog who was spoiled enough to believe he owned the deed.

It was empty upstairs, anyway.

“Storm’s rolling in,” Ryder drawled behind me, stepping out with his own glass of something strong and brown, his badge catching the light at his hip and that easy grin that made people trust him without asking questions. “Do you think she’ll take the power out again?”

“Probably.”

“Your generator in good shape?”

I raised an eyebrow at him, a little annoyed he would think I’d be that careless. It’s not like I wanted what was in the basement to get out.

“Still working,” I said, taking a slow sip. “Better than yours, I’d bet.”

Ryder snorted, lowering himself into the other chair like he had all the time in the world. The storm lit up the horizon in front of us, a white flash that carved his face into something harder.

“Mine’s fine,” he said. “But if it dies, don’t think I won’t haul my ass over here. I know you’ve got a freezer full of steaks and enough whiskey stashed to survive the apocalypse.”

“You mean you’d finally admit you only keep me around for the food and liquor?” I shot back.

He grinned wolfishly. “That and your charming personality.”

The wind shoved at the porch, rattling the railing between us. For a second, I thought I heard something else under it, a faint bang, out of place in the storm. But Ryder kept talking, unconcerned, like he hadn’t noticed.

“Reckon half the town’s already at The Hollow,” he added, swirling his drink.

The sound carried again, faint but sure, and I knew it for exactly what it was. My grip tightened around the sweating glass, boots pressing harder into the boards as I forced myself to stay where I was. Ryder finally cut me a sidelong look.