“You have forty-eight hours,” I said. “Get your things out of the cabin and off the land.”

“You cannot do this,” he stuttered. “I am already three hours away from the state line. I have the keys.”

“Forty-eight hours, Dorian,” I repeated. “If you are still on the property when the clock runs out, I will have the local sheriff arrest you for trespassing and fraud.”

“Maren, wait—”

I ended the call.

The office fell quiet again, except for the low hum of the air conditioning unit.

My hand was shaking slightly, so I balled it into a fist on the desk.

I pulled open the bottom drawer of my desk and reached past the field manuals.

My fingers closed around my father’s old silver dog tag, cold and heavy.

I needed to get to New Mexico before Dorian did anything desperate to the property.

I stood up, adjusting my uniform jacket, and walked out into the main corridor of the battalion headquarters.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows down the hallway.

I walked toward the commander’s office at the end of the hall.