In the Willowgate Hiking Club, everyone thought Samuel Burke was unshakeable. At sixty-one, broad-shouldered and steady as a granite outcrop, Sam had spent decades leading weekend treks through the state park trails. New members relied on him, older members trusted him, and somehow he always ended up in front of the group.
Always.
Whether they were crossing streams, climbing the steeper inclines, or navigating loose shale, Sam made sure he was the one ahead. He didn’t bark orders or dominate the group. He just positioned himself where he could see the path first.
Most people assumed it was habit.
Others thought it was pride.
No one questioned it.
Except for Clara Jennings.
Clara was fifty-eight, an ER nurse who had seen enough human behavior to spot a pattern from a mile away. And she noticed something no one else did:
