Sheriff Brody led us past the usual sleepy storefronts of Hollow Creek and down a less-traveled side road that skirted the edge of town, leading towards the dense, whispering woods. The air grew cooler, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Rafe’s hand remained on my elbow, a constant, grounding pressure. Cain met us halfway, his bike parked on the dusty verge, his face a mask of grim concern. He’d clearly been alerted as well.
“What is it, Brody?” Cain’s voice was tight, cutting through the quiet.
Brody gestured with a shaky hand towards a small, dilapidated cabin tucked back amongst the trees, barely visible from the road. It looked abandoned, forgotten. “Found it this morning. Local kid messing around. Saw a light flickering inside. Thought it was squatters, but… when I g
