Freda Pov
I did not spend two seconds reading the black ink lines again before my hands twisted in opposite directions, ripping the paper right down the center.
The tear made a sharp, clean sound in the quiet kitchen. I folded the two pieces together and tore them across a second time, dropping the four white squares onto the iron top of the wood stove box.
"The HighRock rider is still by the road post, Freda." Rex stood by the window gap, his left palm resting on the sill panel while the cold moon glare lit the dry soot marks on his cheek.
"He can sit on his saddle until his boots turn to ice."
I lifted the small iron lid with the bone poker and shoved the shredded parchment straight into the red embers. The dry paper caught at once, sending a bright yellow flash up through the pipe before it turned into a tiny pile of grey ash.
