“We’re going to file the new survey at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” Dorian said. “And there’s nothing your little lawyer can do to stop it.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out and saw a text message from an unknown number.

*I found the markers,* the message read. *They’re already digging.*

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, my jaw set.

“Where are they?” I demanded.

Dorian smirked, leaning back against the porch railing with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

“I told you,” he said. “It’s already done. The physical survey is being updated as we speak.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said.

I turned on my heel and ran down the wooden porch steps, the gravel crunching under my boots.

Behind me, my mother let out another sharp sob, but I didn’t look back to see if she was following.

I sprinted toward the eastern boundary of the property, where the rocky ridge met the state park land.

The mountain air was cold, stinging my lungs as I pushed through the thick pine branches.