The address from the dancer led them to a part of town where the world seemed to have faded to a dull, uniform grey. As the rows of modest, weathered bungalows slid past the car window, a cold, sharp knot of dread tightened in the pit of Davon’s stomach.
“This place has an uncanny resemblance to Clifford’s neighborhood,” he muttered, his voice low and tense as his eyes scanned the identical, neglected lots with their skeletal, leafless trees.
Claire drew a slow, measured breath, her own senses heightening. “Hmmm.”
They drove on, the GPS counting down the distance with a calm, digital certainty that was at odds with the turmoil building inside the car. The destination marker landed, and Davon’s blood ran cold. It wasn't just the same neighborhood; it was the exact same house. The same pe
