I lingered by the footprint longer than I needed to.
The shape was clear—heel, arch, toe. Average size. The kind that wouldn't stand out in a crowd. But it told a story more than the pictures ever could. Because this… this was real-time. This was recent. This was the moment the curtain dropped and the stagehands scrambled behind the scenes.
I rose to my feet, scanning the alley once more. Nothing. No cigarette butts, no fibers, no dropped tools or bent nails. Just a shallow dent in the earth, framed by a loose halo of disturbed soil and brittle leaves.
It wasn't enough to track someone. Not anymore. He could've gone left or right, ducked into the trees or merged with foot traffic two blocks down. The only thing this confirmed was what I already knew:
The bastard was in the house while we were.
I pressed a knuckle to my lips.
