Part 1: The Quiet Night That Turned Deadly
Jackson Cole settled into his recliner beside the crackling woodstove. Outside, the storm raged. Snow fell sideways, hard enough to erase the horizon, the road, and even the outlines of the towering pines that surrounded his Pine Ridge cabin. At forty, Jackson had long learned to welcome nights like this, where silence demanded nothing and explained even less.
Scout, his ten-year-old German Shepherd, lay at his feet. Age had slowed him down, but his eyes were sharp, always scanning. Jackson trusted Scout’s instincts more than he trusted calm or warmth. There was a reason men like him kept their dogs close: the silence of the world often hid more danger than noise ever could.
