In the corner of the page was a smear of dried mud—red clay like the kind that caked the bottom of his boots.
Like the kind that came from the sealed pasture.
Meaning whoever left this hadn’t guessed.
They’d been close enough to know where to step.
Daniel’s hands went cold.
He called Sheriff Bradley immediately.
Tom showed up in ten minutes, alone, no lights, truck rolling quiet like he didn’t want to advertise anything.
He read the note and didn’t blink.
“Any cameras?” he asked.
“I put two up after—” Daniel stopped himself. “After all that.”
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