On my bedside table, the smartphone David let me have buzzed. ‘Go help Colt butcher that elk,’ read his text message.

The evening’s events stung me so much I didn’t even want to leave my room. I texted back, ‘Okay,’ and watched as David marked the message read, then pulled away in the truck.

The manor was eerily quiet, with everybody gone. My bare feet padded down the hardwood corridor on the second floor, past Catrina’s room and Colt’s room, and the master bedroom belonging ...