Page 18 of Crimson Moon Falling

Gunnar nodded. “He’s right. Something’s happening.” My father’s journal from sixteen years ago seemed to corroborate what they were saying.

My gaze drifted out the window and onto the lake as we passed the Fishing Bridge. Yellowstone Lake stretched before us, its cold surface sparkling under the afternoon sun.

We pulled into a parking area marked “Park Service Only.” An old, dusty pickup truck sat in the lot. It was the iconic seafoam green of almost every other NPS vehicle. Evidence tags hung from the door handles.

“That’s Viggo’s truck,” Beau confirmed as we parked beside it. “Forensics already went through it, but they didn’t find much. Just blood on the door handle.” If I could touch the truck, maybe I could read something from it.

Conall’s worry seeped through our bond, and he grabbed my arm. “Riley—”

“I’m fine,” I cut him off, knowing he was concerned about me gathering energy, or worse, Spooling, in front of Beau. “This is why I’m here.”

He held my gaze, then reluctantly let me go. As I approached the truck, the implant shifted into another gear, as if in anticipation. It was a new sensation, and I paused to analyze it.

“What’s wrong?” Ash asked.

“Nothing.” I shook my head and pulled thin rubber gloves out of my jacket.

My skin tingled from the faint energy signature that lingered around the vehicle. The blood on the driver’s side door handle had dried to a dark rust color, but the emotional residue remained, like the last notes of a song lingering after the music stops. I steadied myself and sent a tendril out.

Gunnar lumbered up beside me, sniffing up mucus before spitting it out. I hardly cringed anymore. “What’re you picking up?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I need a little space.”

Gunnar nodded and stepped back, then held out his arms to keep everyone back. I closed my eyes and placed my hand near the blood. A signature pulsed.

“What exactly is she doing?” I heard Beau ask Conall.

“Reading the residual energy,” Conall explained quietly. “She’s a level eight Resonant and can pick up complex emotions from objects and even places.”

Conall knew full well that I was an extreme outlier on the Resonance scale and could also pull energy signatures from objects, or Spool them. It was a highly controversial and coveted skill that could get me killed. Or worse.

I tuned them out and focused on the truck. What I didn’t find was more telling. There was no spike of terror or surge of panic, just determination tinged with what felt like resignation.

I frowned, then moved my hand to the door handle. Shifting my body so it blocked Beau’s view, I took off a glove and rested my hand on the metal.

“What’s you get?” Gunnar asked when I stepped back.

“He wasn’t afraid, and he knew something was coming.”

Gunnar grunted. “Did he disappear voluntarily or was he coerced?”

“Neither. Both? It’s complicated.” I shrugged and pulled the door open, sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior smelled of pine air freshener, tobacco, and something earthy—like damp soil after rain. The bench seat was worn smooth from years of use, the steering wheel polished to a shine where Viggo’s hands had gripped it thousands of times.

I ran my hands over the dashboard, searching for anything that might offer insight. The truck was meticulously clean and organized. No wrappers or coffee cups, no scattered receipts or loose change. Even the floor mats looked recently vacuumed.

A light tap on the window startled me. Conall stood outside, his expression concerned. I stepped out to join him, and he leaned in next to my ear.

“Are you feeling anything that needs to be Spooled?”

I shook my head. “No. There’s no fear signature, no violence. Just... determination. Like he knew what he was doing.”

“You haven’t been using your energy much since Roswell. Are you worried?”

“Whatever’s happening to me, it minimizes emotion and enhances my analytical abilities. Which isn’t always a good thing, is it?”

This close, his warmth bled into my skin. I fleetingly wondered if I could keep the cold at bay just by standing next to him.

“Your abilities are changing, and we don’t know how or why.”