The sheriff looked up from the papers and nodded, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

“The paperwork is solid, Pike,” the sheriff said.

“You and your crew need to pack up your gear and leave this property immediately.”

Dorian glared at me, his eyes dark with a mixture of rage and desperation.

He took a step toward me, but the sheriff placed a warning hand on his belt.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the sheriff said quietly.

Dorian stopped.

He looked at the dark cabin, then at the heavy machinery parked at the edge of the clearing.

“This isn’t over,” Dorian muttered, turning on his heel.

He walked toward his SUV parked near the tree line.

Inside the passenger seat of the SUV, I saw the silhouette of my mother.

She did not look at me.

She kept her face turned toward the side window, staring into the dark woods.

Beside her, Brielle was staring down at her glowing phone screen, completely detached.

Dorian got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.