“A trap.”
The coffee suddenly tastes bitter.
“Well,” I say.
“That explains the warm welcome.”
Wren leans forward, voice barely above a whisper.
“Boone.”
“Yeah?”
“I think Sentinel’s echo just realized one of the men who burned the last one down is standing in their town.”
I glance toward the door.
And for the first time since arriving in Montana—
I feel it.
The quiet town isn’t peaceful.
It’s watching.
And we just stepped onto the board.
6
Wren
The church sits on a low hill at the edge of town.
White siding.
A tall steeple.
A parking lot filled with dusty trucks and two sheriff vehicles that look older than Boone’s boots.
If someone asked me to picture the safest place in Montana—this would be it.
Which is exactly why the network chose it.
“Tell me again why we’re walking into the lion’s den,” Boone says quietly as we climb the steps.
“Because the lion invited us.”
“That’s never comforting.”
I glance at him.
“You’re the one who said we should scare them.”
“That was before breakfast.”
The church doors open before we reach them.
The man from the diner stands there.
