It’s the next afternoon. Val has conveyed Dalton’s message to the council. They’re “considering” letting him go to Dawson.

I’m the sole officer on duty right now. Dalton and Nicole have gone into the woods to get Jacob’s message and look for Cypher. An hour ago, someone from the logging party came running back to say there’s been an accident. Nothing serious, but a hatchet injury always requires immediate attention, so Anders has left with his first-aid kit.

I’m on Brady duty, all of our militia having been repurposed into construction workers. That’s fine—Brady’s cell is secure, and it’s not as if he’s going to ever talk me into letting him out for a walk. Still, Petra has come over to keep me company, and we’re on the rear deck.

I haven’t accidentally left Brady unattended. I’m testing him. He knows Dalton and Anders are gone. He knows the militia are doing construction. And now his sole guard has just wandered outside to chat with her friend. I want to see what he’ll do. So far, the answer is “Nothing.”

Petra has her sketchbook out. She was a comic-book artist down south, and up here, she draws art as a sideline—people buy it to decorate their homes.

“Looks like someone’s hungry.” Petra nods at a raven, who keeps circling to the deck railing and then pulling up before landing. “That’s yours, isn’t it?”

“It’s not really—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Wild animals are not pets. I once made the mistake of asking Eric if I could adopt a bear cub. I was kidding. I still got the lecture. Since he’s not within earshot, though, this is your raven, right? The one you’ve trained.”

“It is.” I take a piece of muffin from my pocket. “It won’t come close to Storm, so you’ll need to hold her.”

“Have you thought of training them?”

The raven swoops past, but it knows better than to snatch the muffin chunk from my hand.

Petra puts her sketchbook aside. “I grew up rural. We had chickens, and we had dogs that we didn’t want devouring the chickens. You can train them both. Teach Storm not to go after the raven, and teach the raven that the dog is safe.”

Petra explains how to start, and then she puts her hand on Storm’s collar, while I set the muffin on the railing.

The raven lands at the far end and begins inching along, while croaking at me, telling me to move it farther from the dog.

I start to pocket the muffin chunk. The raven lets out a loud squawk.

“Oh, she doesn’t like that,” Petra says with a laugh.

I put the muffin down again, and the raven waddle-walks as fast as it dares—

The station front door slams, and the raven flies off. Storm growls. Petra glances through the rear door and pats Storm.

“Good baby,” she says. “Excellent instincts.”

The back door slaps open, and Jen barrels out.

“What the hell?” Jen says. “You’re leaving him unguarded now?”

“We’re on the back porch,” Petra says. “And he’s locked in a cell. We aren’t concerned.”

“I see that. I guess maybe he’s not such a dangerous criminal, huh?”

“Jen?” I say. “Don’t.”

“Why? Because you’re busy chatting with your buddy and playing with your dog? Are you even trying to find out whether this guy is guilty?”

I don’t answer that. I remember a time when I’d check out online article for crimes I was investigating. I’d read the comments section, in hopes of getting a lead or a fresh angle. Instead all I got were complaints. The cops are lazy. The cops are incompetent. The cops are corrupt. Why can’t they just run DNA? Why can’t they arrest the guy everyone knows did it? I’d log in under a fake name and try to explain, but those commenters didn’t want explanations. The same goes for Jen.

Before I can speak, I see a paper in Jen’s hand.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A petition.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Petra reaches to snatch it.

Jen yanks it back with, “Hey!”

I put my hand out. Jen holds the paper up but doesn’t pass it over.

“I have fifty names,” she says. “Residents who demand a public inquiry into the department’s handling of this situation.”

“An inquiry?” Petra says. “Do you even know what that is? Or is it just something you heard on TV?”

“Tell me exactly what you want,” I say. My voice is calm, but my heart’s hammering.

Fifty names. One-quarter of the population doesn’t trust our handling of this.

No, only a quarter agreed to sign Jen’s petition. How many others disagree and fear saying so?

“Give me the list—” I say.

I’m stepping toward her, but she swats at my outstretched arm. Storm lunges at her. That’s all she does. It’s a feint, with a warning growl, nothing more, but Jen kicks Storm. Her foot slams square into the dog’s chest.

If asked what I would do in this situation, I would say that I’d go after Jen. I’d be unable to help myself. But the thought does not cross my mind. Instead, I throw myself between them, stopping Jen, and then all my attention is on Storm. She’s only staggered back, with a yelp that is more confusion than pain, but I’m on my knees, cradling her.

Then I hear a snarl and a thump and a gasp, and I turn to see Jen pinned against the wall. And the person pinning her is Petra. She has Jen against the wall, shirt bunched in her fists. The look on Petra’s face is exactly the one I would have expected on my own. Blind rage.

“You do not ever touch that dog,” Petra says between clenched teeth. “You do not ever touch Casey.”

“I-It was a mistake,” Jen stammers. “I’m sorry, Casey. Is she okay? Should I get someone?”

I ignore Jen as I check Storm. She’s breathing fine. My finger prods make her flinch but not whimper. She’s rubbing against my legs, looking for comfort, and that upsets me more than the kick itself. My dog has known nothing but kindness from humans. People here fawn over her, sneak her treats, pet her, offer to take her for runs. As the only pet in town, she’s a pampered princess. Now someone has hurt her. She keeps sneaking glances at Jen.

“Just go,” I say without looking up.

“Is she—?”

“You kicked her. Whether she’s physically hurt or not, she isn’t okay.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. When I was a kid, a dog attacked . . . I’m sorry. I just reacted.”

I pat Storm and get to my feet.

“I was trying to accept your petition,” I say, my voice cold. “You brought it. I was taking it. We all know there’s a problem. We know people aren’t happy. And we’re trying like hell to figure out what to do about it.”

“I was afraid—”

“That I’d burn the petition before Eric saw it? Tell me, Jen, what have I ever done to make you think I’d do anything except present it to him.”

“I—”

“Use your goddamn brain for once. I know you have one. Fifty people can swear they signed your petition, so how the hell could I make it disappear?”

I shake my head. “Just go, okay? Take the petition or leave it. I don’t give a damn. Just—”

A crash sounds inside the station.