The orange flags seemed to glow in the morning light, drawing a sharp, jagged line through what I had always considered my peaceful sanctuary.

Tyler was standing on his front porch, a ceramic mug in his hand, watching me approach with a tight, practiced smile.

“Morning, Joan,” Tyler said, his voice loud and quick as he jingled the loose change in his pocket.

“I see you hired some local muscle to play in the dirt.”

“This is the certified survey, Tyler,” I said, holding the rolled paper out toward him.

“Carl Henderson found the original property pins.