Frustration prickled at him. He showed the address tag once, hoping it might spark recognition, but it only earned another shake of the head. With each dismissal, the doubt grew heavier, until he felt like he was chasing a place that had never existed at all.
Finally, he approached an elderly man sitting outside a barbershop, cane resting against his leg. Ethan repeated the address. The old man’s gaze sharpened, his lips pressing into a thin line before he sighed. “Riverside twenty-five,” he said quietly. “There hasn’t been a twenty-five in fifty years.”