The dog glanced at him once, then stepped aside, panting. It was the first time it had yielded space, as though silently inviting him closer. Ethan hesitated, staring into the ragged pit, until a flicker of color caught his eye—something dark against the soil, not stone, not root.
Leaning forward, he brushed away a thin layer of dirt with his fingers. Fabric. Stiff, earth-stained, torn. His stomach lurched. For one awful moment, his mind supplied images of buried clothes, crime reports, bodies hidden in shallow graves. His hands went cold as he froze in place.