Chapter 1: The Call Beneath the Pines

Dawn in Witchpine broke reluctantly, sipping cold light through a lattice of black-needled branches. The air lay thick, scented of resin and earth, as if the forest were holding its breath. Mira Lorne stood at the edge of the derelict textile plant, her boots sinking into a carpet of moss and discarded pine cones, the sprawling complex yawning at her like a mouth of rusted teeth. Somewhere deep within, a Thornwatch Ranger’s voice crackled over SCU’s encrypted comms: _“Serious Crimes, we’re holding at the perimeter. Scene’s secure. But you’d best move quiet, there’s eyes in the trees already.”_ Mira tapped her pen to her chin, as was her habit. She took in the scene: the battered sign reading “Banner Looms, Est. 1966,” the broken windows swallowing dawn, the thick undergrowth reclaiming the chain-link. Witchpine’s industrial zone, once humming with shipment trucks and union voices, now stood as a monument to decay. Yet it was not abandonment but violence that drew the SCU here today. The rest of her unit assembled behind her, each figure a study in contrast with the forest’s wary gloom. Yara Novik, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, swept the area with her tac-light, boots crunching glass. Elias Vann remained hunched behind a department van, already hacking into the Ranger’s bodycam network with a muttered litany of code. Dr. Ivo Grell, his silver hair unkempt, puffed on a hand-rolled cigarette and eyed the grimy scene with clinical detachment. Celeste Arbour lingered in the shade, scarf wrapped tight despite the early spring warmth, her spiral-bound notebook trembling as she organized her colored tabs. A local media van — “The Hollow Post,” hand-lettered — idled at the gate. Mira ignored the reporter’s entreaties, her focus narrowing to the heavyset Ranger standing guard. Chief Marshal Halden Creek, known for his stern adherence to tradition, greeted Mira with a nod. “We kept the locals out, as requested,” Creek said, his tone taut with distrust. “But you’ll have folk watching. Witchpine don’t like outsiders poking at their dead, especially not when it’s one of their own.” “One of yours, or one of ours?” Yara asked bluntly, her voice echoing off the concrete. Creek’s jaw tightened. “Victim’s Rafe Dall. Not much loved — petty thief, troublemaker. Shot by one of my Rangers. Claims Dall was armed. Local families already stirring up talk. High Elder Lyra Wend sent word: handle this quiet, or the forest’ll do it for you.” Mira exchanged a glance with her team, sensing the layers of expectation and threat. “We’ll need your shooter’s statement, Marshal Creek. And any bystander accounts. We process the scene, we do it by the book. No exceptions. That clear?” Creek bristled, but acquiesced. “You’ll have your access, Lorne. But don’t expect folk to open up easy. Dall’s people — the Felder clan — have their own ways of handling grief.” As the team approached the plant’s side entrance, the hush of the forest felt almost sentient — broken only by the caw of a distant crow and the faint gurgle of Witchpine’s namesake springs. Mira paused, notebook in hand, letting the silence settle over her. Every investigation had its own rhythm, its own scent. Here, it was pine needles, old fear, and the metallic tang of blood. “Let’s get to work,” she murmured, stepping through the battered door into the gloom. The hunt beneath the pines had begun. —

Chapter 2: The Echoes in the Mill

Inside the old mill, shafts of milky sunlight filtered through holes in the roof, illuminating swirls of dust. The floor was a patchwork of water stains, old machine bases, and brittle leaves swept in by winter winds. Police tape cordoned off a rough semicircle near a row of tumbled looms, where the body of Rafe Dall lay sprawled, a dark stain radiating from his chest. Yara Novik took point, muscular frame tense as she surveyed the room for threats — not from the living, but the half-aware eyes of Witchpine’s watching kin. She dictated scene notes in a clipped, all-caps monotone: “VICTIM: RAFAEL DALL, MALE, 34. GUNSHOT WOUND TO CHEST. PRONOUNCED DEAD AT SCENE. NO VISIBLE WEAPON NEARBY.” Dr. Grell snapped on gloves with a practiced sigh, kneeling beside the body. “Entry wound, lower sternum,” he observed, voice gravelly. “Close range, judging by powder stippling. Death likely instant. No defensive wounds. His knuckles are clean.” Yara raised an eyebrow. “So much for the ‘he came at me’ defense.” Celeste hovered at the periphery, eyes flicking between the corpse and the graffiti-scrawled walls. “Dall’s record — theft, assault, small-time meth running,” she murmured. “But nothing recent. Last real trouble was a bar fight with a local Ranger’s cousin. Tension’s been brewing.” Elias, meanwhile, deployed a compact drone, piloting it in lazy circles around the scene. His voice buzzed with excitement. “I’m pulling all nearby surveillance — the railyard, street cams, even traffic drones. Doubtful there’s much, but maybe something’s on the Ranger’s dash cam. I’ll start with their bodycams first.” Yara’s knuckles cracked as she straightened. “Where’s the shooter?” Mira, pen tapping, gestured to Chief Marshal Creek, who had entered, hat in hand. “Ranger Dalen Mirk is outside, cooling his heels. Says Dall pulled a gun, but none found yet. Claims he fired in self-defense. Only witness is a shift worker from the bottling plant next door — waiting in a Ranger truck.” Dr. Grell lifted Dall’s shirt, revealing a faded tattoo of an antlered skull — a mark Mira had seen before, the “Lantern Elk” of local lore. “Family’s old blood,” Mira noted. “The Felders don’t forget a slight. This won’t go quiet.” She knelt, inspecting the hands — no residue, no sign of a struggle. The body’s position seemed almost staged, arms splayed wide like a penitent. Grell produced a bagged shell casing, holding it to the light. “Standard Ranger issue. But the angle’s… odd. Downward trajectory, as if the shooter stood over him.” Elias’s drone whirred, casting a shifting shadow across the scene. “I’ll need their comm logs, too. And GPS traces. If the shooting happened here, why do the logs show Dalen’s unit coming from the east gate — nowhere near Dall’s usual haunts?” Mira scribbled in her faded notebook, feeling the case’s weight settle into her bones. The old plant, the Ranger’s story, the missing weapon — all wrong. Witchpine’s hush pressed close, as if the forest itself was listening. “Bag everything,” she ordered quietly. “We talk to the shooter next. If he’s lying, we’ll know soon enough. But someone else was here — and the pines keep secrets better than any man.” —

Chapter 3: The Ranger’s Tale

Outside, the morning light had sharpened, revealing the industrial zone’s forgotten skeletons: silent rail tracks, empty barrels, the cracked glass of a decades-old watchtower. At the edge of the cordon, Ranger Dalen Mirk stood stiffly, uniform rumpled, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. His eyes darted, pupils wide, as Mira approached flanked by Yara’s steady bulk. “Ranger Mirk,” Mira began, her voice low and deliberate. “You’ve read your rights. We need a full account — no omissions.” Mirk swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I got a call… about movement in the mill. Figured it was Dall. He’s been breaking in, stealing copper wire. Came in through the south fence. Called it in, then went inside. Saw Dall by the old looms — he looked up, reached for something, I saw a glint. I thought it was a gun. I… fired. He went down.” Yara’s eyes narrowed. “You sure you saw a weapon?” “Looked like it. I panicked, maybe. He’s quick. Last time I tangled with him — he nearly took off my ear with a crowbar.” Mira let the silence stretch, pen poised. “But no weapon was found on or near the body. Dall’s hands were empty.” Mirk’s jaw worked. “Maybe he tossed it. There’s plenty of places to hide things in there. Look, I know how this looks. But I swear, I thought I was in danger.” Yara crossed her arms. “Your bodycam?” Mirk looked away. “Battery was low. I know, procedure says keep it running, but—” Yara cut him off. “Convenient.” Elias’s voice crackled in over Mira’s earpiece. “I pulled Mirk’s comm logs. There’s a gap — ten whole minutes unaccounted for before he called it in. GPS ping puts his unit at the edge of Dreadpine Vale, not at the south fence. Should I push him?” Mira met Mirk’s anxious gaze. “You weren’t where you said you were. GPS says otherwise. Care to explain?” Sweat beaded on Mirk’s brow. “Signal’s patchy in the woods. Could be a glitch. I—I drove around, maybe lost track of time.” Mira watched him, letting the silence draw out, heartbeats stretching between them. She sensed fear, yes — but also something else, a flicker of shame, of jealousy wound tight beneath his words. “We’ll check the logs,” she said softly, “and we’ll search every inch of that mill. For your sake, Ranger, I hope you’re telling the truth.” As she turned away, Yara muttered, “If he’s covering for someone, it’s not just his badge on the line. In this town, secrets rot quick.” Mira nodded, feeling the forest close in again, its pines swallowing sound as surely as any grave. —

Chapter 4: The Family’s Watch

By midday, Witchpine’s sun had burned through the mist, but inside the Springkeeper’s Hall — a low, timbered structure set amid steaming pools — the air was thick with incense and wary eyes. Mira and Celeste found themselves seated across from High Elder Lyra Wend’s chosen envoy: a rail-thin woman named Mara Felder, her hair bound with pine needles, her eyes glittering with the righteous anger of the newly bereaved. “You come for answers,” Mara said, voice steady but cold. “But you bring none for Rafe’s mother.” “We’re here to investigate what happened,” Mira replied, her tone gentle. “We need your help to understand who might have wanted Rafe dead.” Celeste, circling anxiously, offered, “Rafe had many enemies. But family matters most here. Sometimes grief carries more teeth than justice.” Mara’s gaze flicked to Celeste, then back. “You outsiders think you know our ways, but you don’t. The pines remember. Rafe made mistakes, yes — but he was ours. He’d never pull on a Ranger. Not unless he was cornered.” “Did he mention trouble with the Rangers lately?” Mira pressed. “Or anyone close to them?” Mara was silent for a long moment. “There are whispers. Dalen Mirk’s wife, Lenna — she and Rafe were close once. Before she married. Folks say she still pines for him. Dalen never liked that. Had words with Rafe at the Trading Post last week.” Celeste scribbled furiously, organizing tabs. “Anything else? Arguments, threats?” “Plenty. But that’s Witchpine. Folk hold grudges longer than the forest holds fog. You want the truth, ask the springs — they reveal what men hide.” As they rose to leave, Mara caught Mira’s sleeve, her grip icy. “Rafe’s little brother, Jaren — he’s angry. He’ll want revenge, Ranger justice or not. Keep an eye on him. The family won’t wait for your findings.” Outside, the fog was gone but suspicion hung heavier than ever. Mira felt the weight of Witchpine’s history pressing at her — the sense that the roots beneath these springs drank not just water, but blood. —

Chapter 5: Pine Shadows and Bottling Lines

The bottling plant’s machinery thrummed faintly behind a line of battered trucks, the scent of resin mingling with steam from a vent. Yara and Dr. Grell approached the plant’s rear entrance, where a nervous witness awaited in a Ranger cruiser — one Orson Pike, night shift foreman, eyes darting between SCU badges and the forest’s edge. “I didn’t see much, sirs — uh, madams,” Orson stammered, twisting his cap. “Heard a commotion through the broken window. Sounded like an argument, then a shot. By the time I ran over, the Ranger was standing over Dall, gun drawn, breathing hard. Dall was already gone.” Yara’s gaze bored into him, but Dr. Grell’s voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Did you see anyone else? Any movement, before or after?” Orson hesitated, then shook his head. “No, ma’am. But I thought I heard another voice, maybe, before the shot. Could’ve been echo. Or… just nerves. This place does weird things to sound.” Yara made a note, frowning. “You sure? Male or female?” “Couldn’t say. High, maybe angry. But it was quick.” Dr. Grell nodded. “You ever see Dall and Ranger Mirk argue before?” “A couple of times. Over scrap, mostly. But Dall was friendly with Mirk’s wife. Folk talk. Witchpine’s like that.” Yara leaned in. “Did Dall seem scared? Or was he expecting trouble?” Orson bit his lip. “I think he knew something was coming. Last week, he asked me about places to lay low, outside town. Said the pines were watching him. I thought he was being paranoid.” Dr. Grell exchanged a glance with Yara. “Thank you, Orson. We’ll be in touch.” As they left, Yara whispered, “Another hint at jealousy. But why now? And who was the second voice?” Grell, rubbing his temple, replied, “This is starting to smell less like a clean shoot and more like a feud — with family watching from the trees.” —

Chapter 6: Digital Trails and Dead Ends

Back at the mobile lab van, Elias Vann hunched over his triple monitors, light from the screens reflecting in his glasses. The pines pressed close outside, but inside, the hum of electronics was a shield against superstition. “I’ve pulled all the bodycam footage — nothing useful. Mirk’s cam really was dead. Dashcam, too, blanks during the crucial window. Either the batteries all died at once, or someone knew which wires to pull.” He tapped at his wristwatch nervously. “But check this out: GPS logs from Mirk’s patrol car. He wasn’t near the mill until five minutes before the call. Before that, he was parked near a side road — Beecher Lane — for almost ten minutes. That’s way out of his usual route.” Mira leaned in, eyes narrowed. “Who lives near Beecher Lane?” Celeste’s fingers danced over her notebook. “Lenna Mirk — Dalen’s wife. Her family’s old Felder blood, but she married into the Mirk line. Their house backs onto the woods, close to the springs.” Elias clicked his tongue. “I checked her phone pings, too. She called Rafe Dall three times the night before. Last call, just after midnight, lasted three minutes.” Yara grunted. “So Lenna connects both men. Motive brewing for months.” Mira’s pen hovered, then dropped. “But is this a jealous husband’s rage, or something deeper? And why the elaborate cover-up?” Dr. Grell, examining the shell casing bagged from the scene, mused, “Trajectory doesn’t add up for a quick-draw shootout. Someone stood over Dall. That’s an execution, not self-defense.” Celeste circled the room, eyes flicking from face to face. “We’re missing something. A third presence, perhaps? Or was Lenna herself at the scene?” The team stared at each other, the air charged. Then a voice crackled through the radio: “Mira, Chief Marshal Creek here. Dall’s brother Jaren is making threats. Says he’ll settle this the Felder way — blunt and bloody. You’d best move fast.” Mira closed her eyes for a moment, letting the rhythm of the forest seep in. Cases in Witchpine never ran straight; the pines twisted every path. “Time to speak with Lenna Mirk,” she said. “Before the family tears itself apart.” —

Chapter 7: The Springkeeper’s Daughter

The Mirk house squatted on the edge of the woods, its walls streaked with lichen, a faint trail of pine needles leading up the steps. Lenna Mirk answered the door in a faded blue dress, her long hair loose, eyes shadowed with sleeplessness. The house smelled of beeswax and boiled herbs. Mira and Yara entered carefully, letting Lenna lead them to a cramped kitchen. A kettle steamed quietly, the only sound. “Lenna, we need you to be honest,” Mira began gently, her tone inviting trust. “There’s evidence placing you in contact with Rafe Dall the night before he died. We know about your history together.” Lenna’s hands shook as she poured tea. “Everyone knows. This town doesn’t let love die quietly. Rafe and I… we grew up together. Drifted apart after I married Dalen. But he never stopped writing me. I told him it was over, but he wouldn’t let go.” Yara’s voice was blunt. “Did your husband know about the calls?” A pause. “He suspected. We argued. Badly. He said he’d ‘make sure Rafe stayed away.’ I thought it was just words.” Mira leaned forward. “Where were you the morning Rafe was shot?” Lenna’s fingers twisted in her skirt. “Here. In bed. Dalen left early — said he had patrol. I tried calling Rafe one last time but he didn’t answer.” “Did you see Dalen before he left?” Lenna hesitated, then nodded. “He was different. Cold. Like he’d made up his mind about something.” Tears glimmered, sudden and raw. “I didn’t want anyone hurt. But in this town, love always costs. Always.” She buried her face in her hands. Yara softened, just slightly. “If there’s anything else, now’s the time to say it.” Lenna looked up, eyes hollow. “You think Dalen killed him, don’t you? Maybe… maybe he did. But Rafe — he wasn’t innocent. Neither am I.” Outside, the pines whispered in the rising wind. Mira felt the threads tangling tighter — love, jealousy, vengeance, all knotted beneath the forest hush. —

Chapter 8: Red Herrings and Rising Tension

As dusk crept through Witchpine, word spread that Jaren Felder had been seen near the mill, carrying what looked like a rifle. Thornwatch Rangers were on alert, fearful of a family vendetta escalating to open violence. The SCU’s investigation suddenly felt like walking a razor’s edge — caught between the slow machinery of law and Witchpine’s traditions of retribution. Elias, frustrated by the dead end with the bodycams, shifted focus. “I got a tip from a local. Someone saw a blue pickup leaving Beecher Lane right before the shooting. The registration comes back to a Cass Breck — Dall’s old running mate. Maybe Jaren called in Breck for backup?” Yara wasn’t convinced. “Red herring. Breck’s alibied — locked up two towns over for drunk and disorderly. Checked the logs myself.” But the rumor mill churned, and soon “The Hollow Post” bulletin blared: “Felder Family Seeks Vengeance — Outsiders Can’t Keep Us Safe!” The town’s nerves were fraying. That night, Mira stood at the edge of the Dreadpine Vale, watching the lanterns of the Felder homestead flickering through the trees. She felt the weight of so many unsolved stories — missing women, vanished children — pressed into the soil. Here, every crime layered atop old wounds. Her phone buzzed — another missing person call, this time from Briar’s Edge. A teenage girl, vanished on the walk home from the Herbal Exchange Fair. The SCU was stretched thin, forced to triage. Mira assigned Celeste to begin quietly gathering background on the new disappearance, but made clear: “We finish this case first — or we risk losing control of both.” Meanwhile, Yara and Elias met with Chief Marshal Creek, who offered only grudging support. “Jaren’s a hothead, but not stupid. He won’t risk all-out war, not with you lot here. But my men are scared. Folk talk about forest retribution. You solve this, or Witchpine will solve it their way.” The pressure was mounting. Yet nothing about Dall’s death fit the pattern of a simple jealous shooting, and the evidence refused to resolve. The SCU was running out of time before the case — and the town — spiraled beyond their reach. —

Chapter 9: The Sap-Stained Sanctuary

Celeste, having spent hours poring over files in the van, called Mira and Elias to a small clearing near Witchpine Springs, where the earth was damp and the air shimmered with the heat of the pools. She pointed to a patch of sap-stained earth beneath a leaning pine. “Look. Pine sap, mixed with shoe prints. Someone stood here for some time — maybe watching the mill. I matched the tread to Lenna’s boots. She was here, early morning. Her phone GPS puts her at this spot for twenty minutes.” Mira’s brow furrowed. “She said she was in bed. Why lie?” Elias added, “She left her phone on — a rookie mistake. The timestamp matches the gap in Dalen’s patrol car GPS. They were both here. But not together. Lenna was stationary, Dalen was parked nearby. Maybe she was waiting for Rafe. Or… someone else.” Celeste’s eyes glittered. “And there’s more. Lenna’s last call to Rafe pinged off the same cell tower as Dalen’s patrol unit. They were in range of each other.” Mira thought aloud, “What if Lenna arranged to meet Rafe here? Dalen found out — followed her. Did he confront both? Or… did someone else arrive?” Elias’s voice was taut. “I checked the bottling plant’s old security logs — there’s a figure moving near the mill’s east entrance, minutes before the shooting. Too small to be Dalen. Could be Lenna, but the footage is grainy.” Mira’s mind churned. “So Lenna was there. But when the shot was fired, she’d already left — her GPS shows her moving rapidly back to Beecher Lane.” Celeste murmured, “Maybe she saw the killer. Maybe she… was the killer.” The revelation hung in the steamy air, as ambiguous as the pines themselves. Mira felt the narrative shifting — away from the jealous husband, toward the Springkeeper’s own daughter. —

Chapter 10: Confrontation at the Springs

It was nightfall when the SCU brought Lenna Mirk to the springs, the ghostly steam rising around them, masking the ancient stones. Mira, Yara, and Celeste stood in a half-circle, their faces lit by lantern glow. The air was heavy with expectation. Mira spoke quietly. “Your GPS places you at the springs, then moving toward the mill, the morning Rafe died. You lied, Lenna. Why?” Lenna’s hands balled into fists. “I… I was scared. I only wanted to see him, to say goodbye one last time. I waited, but he didn’t come. So I left. I swear.” Yara’s voice was sharp. “But you knew Dalen was out looking for him. Did you warn Rafe? Or set him up?” Tears slipped down Lenna’s cheeks. “I loved them both, in different ways. But Rafe… he wouldn’t let go. He threatened to tell Dalen everything. Said he’d ruin us. I just wanted peace.” Celeste stepped forward, her voice soft but insistent. “Did you see who shot him?” Lenna shook her head, though her eyes flickered. “I heard the shot. Saw Dalen’s car — but I kept walking. I was afraid. I’m sorry.” The forest seemed to press even closer, waiting. Mira studied Lenna’s posture, the guilt in her voice. “You’re still holding something back. For your own sake — and Dalen’s — tell us.” Lenna’s voice broke. “I… I saw someone else. A shadow near the mill. I thought it was Rafe at first, but the walk was wrong. Then the shot. I ran. I ran all the way home.” Yara exchanged a look with Mira, suspicion blooming. “Who else knew about the meeting?” Lenna’s answer was barely a whisper. “My brother. Jaren. He’d been following me. He threatened Rafe, said he’d kill him before he shamed the family.” The case twisted once more, the red herring of jealous husband giving way to a new — and perhaps truer — suspect. —

Chapter 11: The Family’s Secret

Jaren Felder was cornered by the Rangers at the family homestead, sap still smeared on his jacket. In the candlelit kitchen, Mira and Yara faced him, the air thick with the smell of pine smoke and grief. Jaren’s eyes were wild, defiant. “You outsiders think you can judge us? Rafe was blood, but he was poison. He’d have dragged us all down. I didn’t shoot him — I wanted to teach him a lesson, that’s all. Someone else got there first.” Mira held up the evidence. “Your boots match prints at the mill. And you were seen with a rifle, hours later.” Jaren spat on the floor. “Old hunting piece, wasn’t loaded. I swear. I got to the mill late. Rafe was already dead. Dalen was gone, and I saw Lenna running. Guess she couldn’t handle what she did.” Yara’s tone was unyielding. “You’re lying. You threatened your own brother.” Jaren’s voice cracked, anger giving way to something brittle. “You think I wanted him dead? He was my brother. But he’d shamed us — tried to use Lenna, play the families off each other. I followed her, yes. I wanted to stop it. But when I saw him lying there, all I felt was relief. Does that make me a killer?” Mira watched him, reading the pain beneath the bluster. “Maybe not. But you know more than you’re saying. The truth won’t stay buried here — not even under the pines.” Jaren slumped, defeated. “Ask Lenna. She’s the one with secrets. I’m just the one who’ll be blamed, like always.” The family’s secrets, old and new, tangled together — and Witchpine’s silence pressed in, as if daring the truth to emerge. —

Chapter 12: GPS and the Ghost in the Pines

Back in the van, Elias finally caught the break they needed. “Pulled deeper GPS metadata from Lenna’s phone. There’s a short Bluetooth handshake pinged at 7:02 a.m. — a proximity trigger. Not Dalen’s patrol unit, but… a Ranger comm badge. One assigned to Chief Marshal Creek. He’s the only other Ranger with reason to be at the mill that morning.” Mira’s jaw tightened. “Creek claimed he was at the Ranger house. But if he was at the mill before the call…” Celeste spun her notebook, eyes wide. “The Chief’s wife — she’s Dalen’s cousin. And she’s been trying to keep the families from tearing apart since last year. If Rafe was threatening to go public with the affair, maybe Creek decided to cut the knot.” Yara’s face darkened. “Creek’s the one who pushed the self-defense story. Controlled the scene, kept the weapon from being found. He was playing us.” Mira’s mind raced. “We need to confront him. But carefully — if he’s willing to kill over family secrets, he won’t hesitate to tie off loose ends.” Elias nodded grimly. “I’ll prep the GPS overlays. If we pressure him with the timeline, he’ll have to crack.” Outside, the forest rustled, as if even the pines braced for what came next. —

Chapter 13: Confession Beneath the Lantern Elk

Chief Marshal Creek stood at the old Ranger house porch, lantern in hand, the carved figure of the Lantern Elk watching over the entrance. When Mira and Yara arrived, Creek regarded them with weary resignation. “You pressing me on this again, Lorne?” he asked, voice rough. Mira nodded. “We have GPS evidence — your comm badge was at the mill. Before anyone else. You knew about Rafe and Lenna. You knew what would happen if the feud broke open.” Creek’s shoulders slumped, the weight of decades settling on him. “I kept this town together after the last blood feud. Watched families burn each other out over pride. Rafe — he was a fuse. I went to warn him off that morning. Didn’t plan to hurt him. But he taunted me, said he’d see Lenna, Dalen, the whole lot ruined. He reached into his coat — I thought it was a gun. I fired. Only realized after he was… he was just pulling his cigarettes.” Yara’s eyes narrowed. “And the weapon?” Creek’s voice broke. “There wasn’t one. I panicked. Hid the truth. Told Dalen to say it was self-defense, to protect the family. Figured it was better than a feud.” Mira let the silence pour between them, heavy as grief. “You could have trusted us. Instead, you let the town fester.” Creek looked away. “You think the pines forgive? They never do. All we do is bury secrets in the roots and hope they don’t grow back.” In the distance, the Lantern Elk’s eyes caught the lantern light, glowing faintly gold. Mira felt the haunting of this place — the sense that the forest remembered every wrong, every lie. —

Chapter 14: The Price of Truth

The arrest was quiet. Chief Marshal Creek surrendered without a struggle, his badge heavy in Mira’s palm. Dalen Mirk was cleared of murder, but his marriage lay in ruins. Jaren Felder, though innocent of the shooting, remained an outcast, blamed by some for stirring the feud. Lenna Mirk withdrew from both families, lost to the hot springs and the hush of the pines. The SCU filed their report, citations thick with the language of tragedy. Witchpine’s townsfolk watched with wary eyes — some relieved, others convinced that the forest would take its own vengeance for outsiders’ meddling. Celeste lingered at the edge of the springs, watching the sap flow down the trunks, murmuring, “This place doesn’t let go. The next storm will wash away the footprints, but the roots remember.” Elias compiled the digital logs, hands shaking. “We solved it, but it doesn’t feel done. Like there’s a piece missing. Someone else could have pulled that trigger — the evidence is still only as good as the story we choose to believe.” Dr. Grell tended to Rafe Dall’s body with silent reverence, planting a sprig of pine at his grave. “May the forest find peace, even if the people cannot.” Yara, uncharacteristically quiet, drove through the misty woods as the first spring rains began to fall. “The pines swallow every sound eventually. But the truth still echoes, somewhere.” Mira pinned another photo to her closet’s secret wall, beneath the old Lantern Elk sketch. The case was solved — officially. But as the mists crept through Witchpine, and another missing girl’s name was whispered in Briar’s Edge, she wondered if anything ever truly ended here. —

Chapter 15: Lanterns in the Fog

Weeks later, as the seasons turned, Witchpine’s annual Steam Blessing Ceremony saw lanterns floated down the springs, their lights wavering through shrouds of fog. Mira watched from the edge, coat wrapped tight, the SCU team scattered among the crowd. Some townsfolk lit lanterns for Rafe Dall. Others for the lost — names swallowed by the forest, fates unresolved. High Elder Lyra Wend watched without expression, her envoys guarding the borders of tradition. As the lanterns drifted away, a hush settled. Mira thought of unseen footprints, of secrets buried in silence, of cases yet unsolved. The pines whispered, as they always did, of ghosts and grudges and the price of truth. A girl’s voice called out through the fog — the missing child, or perhaps only a memory. Mira closed her eyes, listening, letting Witchpine’s haunting quiet seep into her bones. In Verrowind, justice was never simple. But sometimes, the forest revealed just enough light to see by. —