Nothing moved. But the woods suddenly felt too still, like whatever had been out there had slipped away the second I saw its handiwork.
I ran a hand through my hair and forced myself to step away from the window. I locked both doors, double-checked the latches, and walked to the porch to flip on the floodlights. Bright beams washed over the yard, transforming the forest edge into a harsh metallic wall of branches and shadows.
"You want to play games in the dark?" I muttered under my breath. "Not tonight."
I went back inside and took inventory: trail cams running, locks secured, breaker box reinforced. Still, I wasn't about to sit there alone, waiting to see if something else happened. So I grabbed my phone again and called Randall.
He answered on the first ring. "You all right?" he asked immediately.
I exhaled. "Depends on your definition of all right. I just got a photo message from the woods. Someone took a picture of me, threatening text attached."
He muttered a sharp curse under his breath. "Send it."
I forwarded it. There was a long pause. "Then that's Joey or someone with him. They want you scared."
"Well," I said, "they picked the wrong engineer."
Randall chuckled darkly. "Good, because I'm coming up."
"You don't have to."
"I'm coming," he repeated. "Give me 10 minutes."
Despite everything, I felt a subtle wave of relief—not because I needed protection, but because having another set of eyes and someone who knew these mountains better than anyone felt like placing another stone between myself and chaos.
10 minutes later, I saw the glow of Randall's lantern through the trees. A moment after that, he walked onto my porch, raincoat dripping, expression set in a grim frown. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
"Let me see the message again," he said.