A branch cracked beneath her boot.
Every man below froze.
One of them turned toward the ridge.
“There!”
Fear detonated inside her.
Clara ran. Branches clawed at her sweater as she tore through the woods, half-blind with panic. Voices erupted behind her somewhere below, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t stop until she burst out of the trees and reached the truck. Her hands shook as she fumbled the keys into the ignition. She drove hard for town, tires spitting gravel, the image of that pale hand burned into her vision. By the time she hit Main Street, the courthouse lights were glowing against the darkening sky.
* * *
Jackson County Sheriff’s Office — 1999
The station was nearly empty.
A desk fan rattled near the front counter while Sheriff Burton Scott worked through paperwork beneath the fluorescent lights.
Seven-year-old Burke sat cross-legged on the floor beside the filing cabinets with a sheriff’s notepad balanced on one knee, drawing mountains and police cruisers with a blue crayon. Nearby, five-year-old Grant pushed two battered toy trucks across the scuffed tile floor, making quiet engine noises under his breath.
The front door burst open hard enough to make both boys jump. Grant’s toy trucks skidded to a stop, one wheel still spinning as the echo of the slam rattled the loose glass in the fan over their heads.
Burton was already on his feet before Clara reached the desk.
“Miss Vale?”
She was ghost-pale.
Breathing hard. Terrified.
Burke stared at her, his eyes already as watchful as his father’s.
Grant clutched one of the toy trucks in both hands and looked toward Burton.
Burton came around the counter fast and caught Clara gently by the arms before she lost her footing.
“Easy now,” he said. “Sit down.”
Clara collapsed into the chair beside the desk.
“I saw something,” she whispered.
The tone alone changed the room.
Burton looked toward his sons.
“Hey, boys,” he said quietly, calm but firm. “Why don’t y’all head out front with Charlene for a little while?”
Neither argued.
Burke stood first, studying Clara one last second before setting the crayon down.
Grant slid off the floor, clutching the toy truck in his fist.
“Yes sir,” Burke said.
The boys disappeared through the doorway toward the lobby, where dispatcher Charlene sat behind the radio desk.
