CHAPTER 31: THE NORTH RUN
The first hours of the ride stretched quiet and clear, the valley falling behind me as the trail climbed steadily upward into pine‑cloaked slopes. I kept my speed even and deliberate, eyes scanning every bend, every patch of fresh dirt, every shadow that shifted too slow to be a bird or a squirrel. The radio tucked in my inner pocket stayed silent — no calls, no warnings, just the faint, soft static of open air. By mid‑morning I reached the high meadows, where wild blueberries grew thick along crumbling stone walls and the wind carried the sharp, clean scent of resin and sun‑warmed earth.
I stopped for water at the spring Kael had pointed out, leaning my bike against an old fallen log bleached pale by years of weather. That was when I saw it: a single set of tir
