Ash lets out a sigh of relief. “Good,” he says. “Let’s get out of here, and then we can read it. But first”—he holds up a key with a small wooden horseshoe attached to it—“I found this in the assassin’s pocket, practically the only thing he had on him, besides weapons, which I took. Do you know what it’s for?”

My thoughts return to the man’s bloodied head and I clutch the tin like it’s the only thing tethering me to my sanity. Ash holds the key out, and I reluctantly take it.

I tilt the horseshoe to catch a bit of moonlight. “It looks like it goes to a padlock. And if I had to guess I’d say it’s for a barn or storage shed,” I say, trying to suppress the sick feeling welling in my throat that this not only came off a dead body, but from a person I killed. “There are lots of both around here, especially on the outskirts of town.”

Ash nods, like he came to the same conclusion. “Are any of them rentable, possibly a barn someone could pay cash for? Or even better, something someone could use without the owner noticing?”

“Hmmm. It would have to be one of the bigger properties. But I can think of four or five farms that are big enough to have unused barns or sheds,” I say, going over a mental map of Pembrook. “Would it need to be walking distance from here?”

“Definitely. And with a direct route through the forest to and from your house that avoids the town and people,” he says.

I nod. “Anything else?”

“If I’m right, the building this key belongs to will be in a large open field with no crops or trees,” he says.

I hand the key back to Ash like I can’t get rid of it quickly enough. “There’s a farm about a mile from here, a straight shot through the forest, that has a field tucked way back in the property that pretty much never gets used.”

He exhales like he was hoping that was what I would say. “Let’s go get our bags and see what we can find.”

“But what about…” I point behind me.

“There is nothing to hide here,” Ash says. “His injuries are consistent with falling out of a tree. Nothing more.”

“Won’t the arrows be suspicious?” I say, worrying about what the scene will look like to Sheriff Billy. Will he somehow connect it with Dad’s and my disappearance?

“Collected them,” he says, pointing to a pile of shafts and a broken bow, which I hadn’t seen in the dark. “We’ll bring them with us and dispose of them.”

“But we can’t just leave him. I mean—”