Marcus let out a guttural sound, half-sob and half-growl, as Blake held him tight.

“It’s over, Marcus,” Blake said, breathing heavily. “Let it go.”

Marcus slumped against the wall, his strength suddenly leaving him.

He slid down the wet stone until he was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands.

“I’m ruined,” he whispered, his shoulders shaking. “I’m completely ruined.”

I stood over him, my chest heaving, the smell of gasoline making my head spin.

“Why the gatehouse, Marcus?” I asked, my voice trembling. “What did you think was in here that wasn’t in the main house?”

He didn’t answer, keeping his face buried in his palms.

“He knows the county is coming tomorrow,” Blake said, kicking the empty lighter away.

“Lydia Crane,” I said, the name tasting like ash in my mouth. “She found something, didn’t she?”

Marcus looked up, his face pale and smeared with soot from his wet hands.

“She found the original survey from 1882,” he said, his voice hollow. “The one that shows the boundary lines of the colored cemetery.”

“The unmarked graves,” I said. “The ones on the north slope.”