Page 13 of Silent Road

He stared at the wreckage, his chest heaving.Slowly, the red haze of anger faded, replaced by a cold, familiar emptiness.He approached the broken camera like a man approaching the scene of an accident.

As he knelt to gather the pieces, something caught his eye.Initials etched into the base plate, barely visible through a spiderweb of cracks: B.G.

He touched the ruined device gently, almost apologetically.Such a waste.Greenwald had understood something about capturing moments, even if he'd corrupted that understanding with his social media peacocking.The camera had deserved better.

Wind gusted down from the peaks, carrying the promise of afternoon snow.He collected the broken pieces, tucking them into his pack.Evidence should never be left behind, even this far from the trails.

The walk back to his cabin took twelve minutes.He'd timed it precisely, knew every root and rock on the path.The cabin's interior was cool and dark, smelling of coffee and cedar.A single window faced the mountain, perfectly positioned to capture the interplay of light and shadow across the snow.

He set his pack down carefully, then slipped on a pair of latex gloves and moved to the editing desk.The envelope was already prepared, manila paper thick enough to protect its contents.Inside lay a single photograph: Bradley Greenwald, forever captured in his moment of perfect form, ice crystals glinting on his frozen skin.

Now, this—this was authenticity.No filters.No carefully curated social media facade.Just the pure truth of a man's final position, preserved exactly as nature had held him.

It would be selfish to keep such perfection to himself.Art needed an audience to be complete.His father had taught him that, too, though perhaps not in the way he'd intended.

He slid the photo back into the envelope and sealed it.The resort administrator's mailbox would be full of the usual clutter—invoices, customer complaints, internal memos.This would stand out.This would be remembered.

Outside his window, the mountain lion would be feasting.He regretted missing that shot, but there would be other moments.Nature was generous that way.You just had to be patient, had to wait for exactly the right instant...

The envelope felt warm in his hands, like it held something alive.In a way, it did.It held truth—the only truth that mattered anymore.

Time to share it with the world.

CHAPTER SIX

"He was obsessed with that camera," Amanda Greenwald said, twisting her wedding ring.

Bradley's wife sank into the cushions of her chair as if she hoped she might just disappear entirely.She sat in the corner of her immaculate living room, a cup of untouched tea growing cold on the side table."Sometimes I thought he loved it more than me."

The house was a testament to Bradley's social media success—every room looked like it belonged in a lifestyle magazine, carefully curated for maximum visual impact.Even the fruit in the bowl on the coffee table seemed artfully arranged.

"Mrs.Greenwald," Sheila said gently, "can you tell us more about Bradley's photography?Was it just a hobby, or something more?"

"Both."Amanda's lips trembled slightly."It started as a hobby, but once his following grew...He had almost two hundred thousand followers.Companies were sending him free gear to review.He was talking about quitting his job, becoming a full-time influencer."

Tommy shifted in his seat."Did that cause tension between you?"

Sheila noticed how he'd relaxed into the interview, his earlier awkwardness replaced by genuine engagement.He was learning.

"Sometimes," Amanda admitted."Bradley could be...intense about getting the perfect shot.He'd wake up at four in the morning to catch the sunrise.Skip dinner because the lighting was perfect on some mountaintop."She gave a hollow laugh."Last month, he missed our anniversary dinner because he was trying to capture the alpenglow on fresh powder."

"The camera that was found with him," Sheila said carefully, "it wasn't his usual equipment?"

Amanda frowned."What do you mean?Bradley always used his Canon R5.He saved for months to buy it."

"It wasn't with him when we found him."

"That's impossible."Amanda stood abruptly, moving to a shelf lined with framed photos."Bradley never went skiing without it.Never."She picked up a photo—Bradley grinning, his own expensive-looking camera slung around his neck."He was paranoid about that camera.Wouldn't even let me touch it most days."

"Would he have lent it to another photographer?"Tommy asked.

"No."Amanda's voice was firm."He'd rather cut off his arm than let someone else use his camera."She set the photo down with trembling hands."If he didn't have his camera with him...something was wrong.Bradley would never—" Her voice broke.

Sheila waited, giving her time to collect herself.The house felt suddenly airless, too perfect, like a museum where nothing was quite real.

"Did Bradley mention anyone following him lately?"Sheila asked."Anyone paying unusual attention to his photography?"

"He had lots of fans."Amanda sank back into her chair."People were always messaging him, asking about his techniques, his equipment.He loved the attention."She wrapped her arms around herself."But lately...he seemed nervous.Distracted.Said someone kept showing up wherever he was shooting.But when I asked who, he'd change the subject."

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