Part 2: The Grave That Held a Secret
Everett Voss had faced wolves, blizzards, and desperate men in the mountains.

But nothing prepared him for the widow’s strange confession.

“What do you mean he buried your husband before he died?” Everett asked.

Maren glanced toward Aldous, who had gone pale.

“My husband, Daniel, discovered something about the sheriff. He told me that if anything happened to him, I should find a man living on Thorn Ridge.”

Everett’s grip tightened around his rifle.

“What man?”

Maren reached beneath her collar and pulled out a small leather pouch.

Inside was a tarnished silver compass.

Everett stopped breathing for a moment.

He recognized it.

Six years earlier, he had given that compass to his younger brother, Samuel, before Samuel disappeared while working as a government surveyor.

“Where did you get this?” Everett demanded.

“My husband gave it to me before they took him.”

Everett stared at the familiar scratches across its silver cover.

“Your husband knew my brother?”

Maren nodded.

“They worked together. They found forged land records, stolen property deeds, and a hidden agreement involving the sheriff.”

From the corner, Aldous suddenly lunged toward the door.

Everett blocked his escape.

“Sit down.”

For the first time, Aldous obeyed.

Maren continued, her voice trembling.

“Daniel was supposed to meet Samuel at an abandoned mining cabin. But the sheriff’s men found him first.”

“And Samuel?” Everett asked.

“I don’t know.”

Everett opened the compass.

Beneath its glass face was a folded strip of yellowed paper.

He carefully unfolded it.

Three words were written in his brother’s unmistakable handwriting.

“Trust the widow.”

Everett looked at Maren.

“How long have you had this?”

“Since Daniel disappeared. I’ve been afraid to open it.”

Outside, approaching hoofbeats echoed along the muddy street.

Aldous began smiling again.

“Too late,” he murmured. “The sheriff’s here.”

Everett slipped the compass into his coat.

Maren looked toward the window, terrified.

But Everett noticed something she hadn’t.

The sheriff wasn’t riding alone.

Behind him rode a thin man with a gray beard and a familiar scar above his left eyebrow.

Everett staggered backward.

He knew that face.

It was Samuel.

His brother, missing for six years, was alive.

But Samuel’s hands were bound behind his back.

And when he saw Everett through the window, he silently mouthed two words.

“Don’t trust her.”

To be continued in Part 3.