Wyatt unlocked the door and stepped inside, his attention sharpening automatically as he crossed the threshold.
The house was quiet. No movement. No sound beyond the faint hum of the refrigerator.
He shut the door behind him and stood there a moment, listening. When nothing changed, he hung his jacket by the door and kicked off his boots.
Had someone been here? It could have been something innocent—a delivery man or someone selling something.
Or it could have been someone connected with this investigation.
He’d need to remain on alert, just in case.
Thunder circled once on the rug, then settled.
Wyatt paced into the kitchen.
The map of the forest still stretched across his table. He leaned over it, studying the terrain around Lost Hollow Trail again—the backpack location, the tracks that had run parallel to theirs, and the area around Harrow’s Mill.
What was going on out there?
When no answers came to mind, Wyatt rubbed his eyes, realizing he needed to step back and clear his head.
Instead, he grabbed his computer.
Out of curiosity, he typed in the name Kori Hutchins.
Her name came up quickly, followed by a professional profile.
He tapped the first result. A photo filled the screen—Kori in a tailored suit, her hair smooth, her expression composed in a waythat felt very different from the woman he’d watched pick her way across a snow-covered trail that morning.
He scrolled.
Articles. Case summaries. Mentions of high-profile clients and successful outcomes. The kind of work that required precision, long hours, and a mind that didn’t miss details.
He opened one and read more closely.
She’d stood in courtrooms like that, making arguments that held up under pressure, navigating situations where a wrong move had consequences that lasted far beyond the moment.
Wyatt lowered the phone slightly.
Her world was a long way from this one. Yet she’d stepped into it without hesitation.
He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Thunder shifted again, and Wyatt looked up.
The dog was on his feet now, facing the hallway.
Wyatt followed his line of sight.
Nothing moved, but the feeling from earlier returned, quieter this time but still there.
He stood and walked the house, checking each room in turn. Bedroom. Bathroom. Back door. Windows.
Everything was as it should be.
No sign of forced entry. No sign anyone had been there.
He paused in the hallway, listening again, then let out a slow breath and returned to the kitchen.
