Jonas

Light and powdery, I remember that clearly because I was thinking how untouched it all looked, except it wasn't.

There were boot prints coming from the woods straight to the shed.

No side trails.

No signs of an animal.

No scuff marks.

Just clean, deliberate tracks heading to the door and then heading back the same way.

Only one set.

They weren't mine.

Smaller than mine, but deep heavy, like whoever made them was carrying something or wasn't walking quite right.

I stood there for a while, just staring at them, feeling that cold creep you get when your body figures something out before your brain does.

Inside the shed, the clipboard was right where I had left it, and the lock had a new entry.

K-Hall, 7.13 AM.

I checked my watch.

It was 7.15, I hadn't even unlocked the shed until two minutes ago.

That night, I brought in one of my old trail cams from home.

I didn't tell Dale, didn't mention it to anyone.

I mounted it under the awning, facing the door.

It was low profile, nothing fancy, but it worked.

I'd used it for deer tracking before, and it had picked up everything from raccoons to hikers with GoPros.

Three days later, I took the SD card home to check.