“Did that make you happy?”
She was silent.
The question seemed to catch her off guard.
“To get information.”
The Evanston address was on a quiet residential street lined with tall trees and brick townhouses.
I parked half a block away.
Priya’s warning replayed in my head.
Do not go to the property alone.
Technically, I wasn’t going inside.
I wasn’t even getting out of the car.
That distinction felt thin.
The address belonged to a narrow three-story building with cream trim and flower boxes beneath the windows.
Nothing unusual.
No business sign.
No construction.
No obvious explanation.
I checked the number again.
Correct.
My heart thudded.
Then the front door opened.
A woman stepped outside.
Late thirties, maybe.
Dark blond hair pulled into a loose ponytail.
Jeans.
Green jacket.
She was carrying a little boy’s backpack.
A boy followed her.
Six or seven years old.
