Sarah floored it back to town, straight to the county clerk at 8:03 a.m. She slammed every document she could find on the counter: deeds, death certificates, old missing-person files. The clerk, a tired woman with kind eyes, looked up and said softly, “Honey, that address hasn’t existed since 1974. The whole block burned down. You’re talking about a vacant lot.” Sarah stared. Through the window across the street she could see the Victorian standing proud, balloons on the porch, Katie’s minivan parked out front. A little girl waved from the upstairs window. The clerk followed her gaze and frowned. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” Sarah’s blood turned to ice. Only she could see it anymore.