He stared at the word until the ink blurred in his vision. For the first time since unearthing the bag, he felt he was brushing against something real. Yet the closer he came to an answer, the more the questions gathered, heavy and insistent.
Ethan left the library with the name circled in his notebook: Blackwood. It felt fragile, like a thread that might snap if he pulled too hard, but it was the only direction he had. As he walked through town, he found himself glancing at shop signs and mailboxes, scanning for the name as though it might appear by chance.