It wasn’t a casual glance. It was a kneeling, eye-pressed-to-the-wall kind of looking. The kind children do when they sense a secret. The main crack was a crooked zipper running from her knee to the eaves. She’d been tracing a beetle’s path when her shadow fell across it, and the light shifted.
By dawn, the developer’s survey stakes had been pushed out of the ground. Not by wind. By something pushing up from below—small, dry, root-like tendrils of adobe dust that had coiled around the wood and squeezed. cracks adobe
“At dirt?”
