As they drove to the site, Zeff filled Logan in on Judi and Darryl. The FBI had shown up to the accident within ten minutes.
“Must be some kind of record,” Logan said.
“It was almost like they were waiting around the corner with their ears plugged.”
“So, you think the FBI did it?” Logan asked.
“Or Pacific Lumber.”
An electric current buzzed down Logan’s spine. An ancient, dark, and relentless force rose in response. As they bumped along the winding roads into the woods, he leaned his head out the window and looked up at the trees, their lemon-earth scent filling his lungs. “Whatever the cost,” echoed in his head, and he gave himself over to the thought utterly. It didn’t matter if he lived or died.
They arrived to chaos. Protesters parked their cars every which way across the road at
