I crouched, examining the box. The wires had been pulled, but not fully disconnected, likely because whoever did this didn't know what they were messing with and got spooked. Maybe the trail cam triggered again. Maybe headlights from a passing car scared them off. Maybe they realized they were about to fry themselves. But the job wasn't amateur. It was impulsive, messy, driven by rage, which meant one person: Joey.
I stood up, my fists tightening at my sides. A slow burn of anger rolled up my spine. I wasn't looking for a fight, but I wasn't about to let some hotheaded idiot vandalize my home.
I walked back toward the front of the cabin, scanning the woods as rain began to fall in soft, cold droplets. And that's when I saw him: a figure emerging from the treeline. No hood this time, no hiding, no subtlety—just broad shoulders, clenched fists, and a storm of anger marching straight toward me.
He stepped out of the trees like he'd been carved from the shadows: broad shoulders, heavy boots, jaw clenched tight enough to snap his own teeth. Even from a distance, I knew it was Joey. He carried the same energy Karen had, but compressed into something heavier, more physical. Where she used theatrics, he used raw threat.
The rain had shifted from drizzle to a steady fall now, droplets beating on his jacket as he walked toward me with the deliberate pace of someone who had convinced himself he was in the right, someone who had worked himself up into a righteous fury. He stopped a good 15 feet away, feet planted, chest rising and falling like he'd just marched up a mountain—which he had.
"You," he growled. Just that, no greeting, no explanation, no pretense of civility.
I crossed my arms, keeping my voice even. "This is private property. You need to leave."
He jabbed a thick finger toward my cabin. "You had my sister arrested."
"She had herself arrested," I corrected. "She was trespassing. She was stealing."
"Shut your mouth!" he snapped, stomping closer. "I don't give a damn about your excuses."
I held my ground. "Then you're not interested in the truth."
"Truth?" He laughed, one sharp, humorless bark. "The truth is you embarrassed her. You humiliated her. You called the cops like she's some kind of criminal."
"She committed a crime," I said. "Multiple, actually."
Something behind his eyes flickered: a mix of anger and confusion, like part of him wanted to understand, but the other part, the bigger part, refused.
"She was desperate," he barked. "The power company screwed her. She had no heat, no lights."