It had been a quiet few nights on the Greene farm since the sheriff’s group had arrived. The day’s work was long done, the house lights dimmed, and the warm summer air buzzed with the hum of crickets. Out on the porch, one of the newcomers sat in a chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, eyes fixed on the dark fields beyond the fence.

Walking on the creaking boards, Maggie moved quietly until she reached one of the porch columns, leaning her shoulder against it. For a moment she just watched him.

“You praying?” she asked suddenly, her voice low but cutting through the night air and probably catching him off-guard.