PROLOGUE

The hour was late for a meeting.

Late… and this parcel was isolated.

But the commission? Heather Sinclair's jaw tightened in determination—that was a big number, too big for her to ignore.

Dust billowed behind Heather's cherry-red sedan as it carved a path through the Texas desert. Twilight clung to the horizon, the sun sinking into the earth like a dying ember. She checked the rearview mirror, her gaze locking onto the desolation stretching out behind her.

"Last chance to back out," she murmured to herself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. But Heather was never one to retreat from a challenge, especially not with a commission that could carry her through the dry spell of summer sales.

The car's headlights cut swaths through the approaching darkness as it rolled to a stop in front of the dilapidated property.

A skeletal fence and a light, wooden gate interrupted the gravel walkway to the main building ahead, and a shiver traced its way up her spine—not from the cooling air, but from something uncanny about the place. She killed the engine and stepped out into the silence, pushing the wooden gate open wide enough to walk through.

This wasn't the sort of job she normally took. Outside of office hours, a caller she had only spoken to over the phone…

Her husband hadn't liked the idea. He'd suggested he ought to come with her, but it wouldn't have been professional.

Now, though, as she stared across the desolate, arid Texan ground, she frowned.

Had she mistaken the time for seeing the property?

She scanned the wide, empty space.

No welcome committee. No sign of life. Just an old windmill groaning in protest against the breeze—a metallic whine that seemed almost sentient. The unseen client's request for this rendezvous ticked in her head like a warning. She scanned the area, the hairs on her arms standing at attention.

"Anyone here?" Her voice didn't carry; it died in the stillness that enshrouded the old, weather-worn property. Heather took a few tentative steps forward, her heels crunching on the gravel. This stillness wasn't right. It was as if the land itself held its breath, waiting, watching.

"Ridiculous," she chided herself and reached for the folder in her car. Deals waited for no one, not even in the creeping shadows of the desert.

Heather squinted into the twilight, her gaze tracing the rugged outline of the hill. A flicker of motion snagged her attention—a silhouette against the dimming sky. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. Was that someone watching her? The shape vanished as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by the encroaching night.

"Hello?" Her voice seemed frail and thin in the vastness.

No answer. She glanced back towards the wooden gate she'd swung open to enter the property, feeling a mix of anxiety and embarrassment at the way her neck hair stood on end. She knew that a decision made in the morning—like agreeing to this meet—often took on a darker tenor at night. It was easy to be brave when the sun was up, but now, in the last moments of twilight…

Heather abruptly froze. She blinked, her eyes tensing as she spotted a dark shape laying on the ground in front of the old building, nearly invisible in the sunset shadows.

"H-hello?" she whispered, her voice straining as she approached slowly, her brow furrowing.

The only sound to greet her was her own heartbeat.

Another tentative step forward, and then she bit back a shout.

A bloody badger's corpse lay on the ground.

She blinked, staring. When was the last time she'd seen a dead badger?

She studied the animal where it lay.

Heather's hand instinctively reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over the emergency call button. The sight of the eviscerated badger sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the dark skyline.

Gulping down her rising fear, Heather scanned the area again. The windmill's eerie groans seemed to echo louder now, drowning out the silence of the desert. She thought of her husband back at home, probably worrying about her late meeting. Suddenly, the extra money didn't feel so important.

Was that blood? Heather squinted, leaning closer as the light of her cellphone glimmered off the animal's fur. The badger looked as if it had been… stabbed? Had a coyote got to it? No. Those were slash marks, cold and clean. Not claws. She'd worked with her father after his hunts, often being assigned to chop the shoulder meat for stew, but still… she knew a knife cut when she saw it.

Heather stumbled away from the dead badger. Her heart thudded, and she fumbled for her phone, the device slick in her suddenly clammy palm. She punched in her husband's number, the screen bathing her face in a cold glow.

Instead of the dull ringing she hoped to hear, there was no response as the phone's signal indicator pulsed between one bar and zero. "Come on, come on," she whispered, as if urging the signal bars to climb.

Nothing. Not a single bar. She tapped the screen, willing it to life. But the digital silence was unyielding—the desert indifferent to her urgency.

"Damn it." Heather glanced over her shoulder, the isolation pressing in. Every shadow seemed sinister now, every whisper of wind a threat. She shoved the phone into her pocket and retreated back to her waiting vehicle. There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation, but she'd wait to hear it tomorrow. Right now, she just wanted to be away from here.

Heather's fingers curled around the door handle, the metal cool and unyielding. She yanked it open and slid inside, the familiar scent of leather and dust a small comfort as she slammed the door closed behind her.

Tossing her phone on the passenger seat, the device mocked her with its lifeless screen, winking out as she jammed the key into the ignition.

Click.

"Come on, baby, come on." A twist of her wrist, a silent prayer for the comforting roar of the engine.

Click-click.

Heather's heart sank. "No. No, no, no. Start!" Desperation laced her voice. But the car remained stubbornly silent.

"Damn it," she spat out, pounding the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. Her chest tightened, breaths quickening as the reality set in—she was truly alone.

"Okay, Heather, think." She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the wheel.

Heather's breathing turned shallow and rapid, and she took a shuddering gulp as she tried to steady herself. Maybe she could get help at the old building? Would there be a phone line connected? She looked up again.

The badger was gone.

She went still, blinking.

The badger was no longer there… where the hell had it gone? It had been dead. She was certain it was dead. What was going on?

Eyes wide, she scanned the desolate landscape through the car windows. The last rays of sunlight bled away, leaving a canvas of shadows. No lights, no houses, just the vast, unending desert stretching out in all directions.

"Get a grip," she whispered, the sound feeble against the silence that pressed in on her. Every rustle outside sounded like footsteps. Every whisper of wind seemed like a hushed conversation just beyond her reach. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, a relentless drumbeat to the rhythm of rising panic.

"Think, damn it!" She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. But with each passing second, her tactical mind, usually so sharp, felt dulled by fear. Someone could be out there, watching, waiting.

"Enough!" She couldn't cower in a dead car. She needed to act, to move.

The client was still coming, most likely, and she was jumping at shadows. Just an injured animal she thought was dead and a bit of car trouble—she'd laugh about how nervous she felt in the morning. The badger… she was probably wrong about the knife marks. What was more likely? An animal attack. It had likely dragged itself away, playing possum when she'd approached. Did badgers play dead? Maybe. Yes, the more she thought about it, Heather was sure that would be it.

With a shaky exhale, Heather forced her door open, stepping into the chill of twilight. The ground felt unsteady beneath her heels. She cursed silently for choosing fashion over practicality. She hadn't accounted for the gravel walk into the building.

"Hello?" she called again, her voice carrying a bit more strength now.

She pivoted slowly, eyes straining to pierce the dusk. Every slight movement was a potential threat—a bush, a rock, a... person? No, just a cactus. She took a tentative step forward, then another, distancing herself from the false sanctuary of her car and moving towards the wooden house.

And then sound.

She stiffened, staring, certain she was seeing things.

A shape coalesced from the obsidian backdrop, solidifying into the form of a person. A chill skittered down Heather's spine as the figure edged closer, each step deliberate, unwavering.

The person was coming from the direction of the house. Her client?

"H-hello?"

They were supposed to wait to be let in. She frowned, but something felt off and robbed her of the frown, replacing it with unease. The desert's stark moonlight draped over the stranger, casting elongated shadows that seemed to reach for her.

Heather's pulse hammered in her throat. She took a sharp breath, her step back crunching on the dry earth, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. Her mind twisted with scenarios, none of them good.

"Who are you?" The query came out strong, belying the tremor she felt.

The figure didn't respond, just continued its relentless approach. And then she spotted it.

The dead badger dangling over their shoulders, blood dripping down the front of their shirt. The nearly severed head of the animal lolling against the approaching figure's chest.

"Stay back!" Heather's voice cracked like a whip through the cool air.

The distance between them shrank with every heartbeat. Heather's brain rapidly fired thoughts of escape routes, defensive maneuvers, the possibility of outrunning her potential assailant. But those heels, those damned heels, betrayed her confidence in evading the approaching figure.

Survival instincts screamed. She couldn't freeze, not now. Not when every cell in her body urged her to move, to survive. Heather sidestepped, aiming for more open ground away from the car, her makeshift anchor.

"Help!" The word tore from her lips, a primal call even as logic told her it was futile. Nobody would hear. Nobody would come.

And then the dark figure broke into a sprint behind her, racing like the night wind.