Someone had been watching—or filming—very recently, by the look of it. All at once, Wade’s earlier apprehension flared anew, eclipsed now by a fresh wave of alarm: whatever had transpired here still clung to the air in a hush of unresolved tension, raising more questions than he was prepared to answer.
The moose snorted, drawing his attention. It sniffed around the tent, then scratched at the ground, unearthing a battered leather-bound journal. Wade picked it up cautiously, wiping away pine needles. The cover depicted a stylized moose emblem, so strikingly similar to the great creature beside him that it chilled his blood.