Dorian turned his head, his eyes widening in sudden panic as the red and blue lights flickered against the dark trees.

“You think Voss can save you?” Dorian whispered, turning back to me, his hand slipping into his coat pocket.

He pulled out a small, worn leather notebook.

My heart stopped.

It was my father’s military logbook.

The one that was supposed to have been destroyed in the desert.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, my voice dropping.

“Your mother kept it,” Dorian said, a cruel smile returning to his lips.

“She knew it was worth something. It has coordinates, Maren. Names of local assets.”

“Things your old bosses would pay a fortune to keep buried,” he added.

He held the book over the deep rocky ravine at the very edge of the clearing.

“Choose, Maren,” Dorian said. “The land, or his legacy.”

The sound of the sirens grew louder, tires screaming as they rounded the final bend toward the cabin.

Dorian’s hand trembled over the dark drop-off.

I took a step forward, my heart hammering in my chest.