We drove for forty minutes, leaving the city limits behind and entering the dark, wooded roads that lined the river.

The trees grew thick on either side of the asphalt, blocking out the starlight.

Eventually, Liam turned down a gravel driveway that was barely visible through the underbrush.

At the end of the path sat a small, one-story cabin made of dark timber.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” Liam said, turning off the headlights. “Tomorrow, we start the formal legal filings with the federal prosecutors.”

We got out of the truck, the gravel crunching beneath our shoes.

The air smelled of damp earth and pine needles.

Inside, the cabin was simple and cold.

Liam went around closing the heavy wooden shutters, while I sat at the small kitchen table.

My phone sat on the wood surface between us.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Liam said, grabbing a flashlight from the counter. “Make sure the back entrance is secure.”

“Don’t go far,” I said.

“Just around the yard,” he said, giving me a reassuring nod. “Lock the door behind me.”