I stared at the empty spot where Bear’s bike had been. Fresh tracks cut through the damp grass, leading toward the woods. A single spent shell casing glinted under the security light like a warning left behind. My pulse hammered as I slipped on my boots and jacket, the notebook still hidden against my chest.
The snake mark on my tank. My mother’s words echoing in my head. The single page of her records. Bear disappearing right after handing it over — it couldn’t be coincidence.
The yard was quiet, the pre-dawn air thick with the smell of dew-soaked leather and cooling engines. I moved along the fence line, keeping to the shadows, my breath visible in the cold. The tracks were clear enough to follow for the first hundred yards before the underbrush thickened.
A twig snapped behind me. I
