Ethan walked the length of Riverside twice, key clutched in his hand, but each time the street ended at the same abrupt curve. There was no sign of Street 25, no hidden turn or narrow lane he might have overlooked. The address kept tugging at him, impossible and insistent.
He stopped a passerby, an older woman carrying groceries. “This is Riverside Street, right?” he asked, trying to sound casual. She nodded without hesitation, even pointed back down the row of houses. “Riverside, yes. Numbers stop up there by twenty. You’re at the end of it now.”