Elias Pov

"You’re wasting your time, mister," a man called out, walking a small dog on the opposite sidewalk.

I stopped, my hand mid-air. I turned to look at him, my chest heaving.

"The man who lives there traveled," the passerby said, barely slowing his pace. "No one knows where he went to, or travelled to. His shop just stopped being open. You can come back later. Maybe he'll be back soon."

I felt a cold, sharp dread settle in my stomach. Traveled. Is that what the killer made people to believe?

The man left with his dog. Seeing that no one was really coming to open the door, I...