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Carson swallowed.

“Either Emma wasn’t her real name…”

He looked toward the burned camp.

“…or somebody made sure she never officially existed.”

21

JUDY

The drive back to Eagle River was silent.

Rain washed soot from the windshield while Trigger led the convoy through the dark back roads. No one spoke over the radios.

Everyone was exhausted.

I rested my forehead against the cool passenger window.

The same questions circled through my mind.

Emma.

The metal box.

The missing evidence.

Robert.

Walter.

Evan.

None of it fit.

Not yet.

Beside me, Mace drove with both hands on the wheel.

He hadn’t spoken since we left the camp.

Neither had I.

For once, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was simply shared.

The Last Stand Tavern looked warm against the darkness.

Lights glowed through every downstairs window.

Wolf had already turned the dining room into a temporary command center. Maps covered one wall. Photographs covered another. Emily’s letter rested beneath clear plastic. The old camp photograph hung beside the enlarged reflection from the cabin window.

I sat at the end of the table and opened my laptop.

A plate appeared beside it.

A roast-beef sandwich, potato salad, and a glass of water.