At the end of Riverside, he stood staring at the hillside where the street ended, trying to imagine what had once stood there. Families, homes, lives—now erased. The photograph’s smiles seemed almost mocking, as if daring him to fill in the missing half of the story.
He turned the key over in his hand, the cold brass warming against his palm. The address was still etched into it, stubborn and real, yet it pointed to a place that no longer existed. That contradiction sat heavy in him, demanding answers. Ethan knew one thing: if he wanted to understand what he had stumbled onto, he would have to look deeper.