“Do you have contact info for this ‘distant relative’?”

“Not on hand,” Elvin admitted.

“I’ve never met them. But if you need it, I can ask my friend.”

“That would be perfect!” Hadley replied eagerly.

“Thank you, Mr. Webster. Keep me posted.”

“Anytime. It’s the least I can do,” Elvin said.

“I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Okay.”

Hanging up, Hadley took a deep breath, climbed into her car, and set off for Jewel Avenue, knowing Joy would soon be stirring from her nap.

That evening, Elvin’s message arrived, containing the address and details of that distant relative of his colleague’s friend. Hadley skimmed the information, murmuring, “Maze Street.” She promptly forwarded it to Ernest.

The following day, Hadley ventured to Maze Street, nestled in the eastern suburbs of Srixby’s historic district. Far from a single thoroughfare, Maze Street was a labyrinthine block of twisting lanes, earning its name from its bewildering layout.

It was a vibrant, chaotic hub for Srixby’s lower-class residents, teeming with diverse trades and faces. The area reminded Hadley of West Twelfth Alley, an equally troubled neighborhood where she had lived upon her return to Srixby.

Parking was a nightmare, so Hadley opted for a cab, which dropped her off at the main road, unable to navigate the narrow streets beyond. Paying the driver, she stepped out and began her search, moving cautiously through the maze, guided by Elvin’s address.

The area was marked for redevelopment, with red “demolish” signs splashed across buildings.

“Not here… I need to go deeper,” Hadley whispered to herself as she looked around.

Eventually, she stopped before a modest single-story house, its rusted iron gate devoid of a number. Using the neighbor’s address as a reference, she confirmed her location.

“This must be it,” Hadley murmured. Stepping forward, she rapped lightly on the door.

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“Hello? Is anyone home?”

At first, there was only silence. Fearing her knock had gone unheard, Hadley tried again, more firmly.

“Hello? Could someone open the door, please?”

“Who is there?” came a gruff reply, laced with irritation.

“Stop banging, or you’ll wreck the door!”

Hadley quickly withdrew her hand as footsteps approached. The weathered iron door swung open with a groan, revealing a middle-aged woman standing in the threshold, arms crossed.

“Good day,” Hadley greeted politely, her eyes brightening. Could this be the woman who had visited Chelsey in prison?

“Who are you?” the middle-aged woman demanded, sizing Hadley up.

“Hello,” Hadley pressed on, her tone steady.

“Are you Mrs. Rosina Prescott?”

“What is it to you?” the woman shot back, evading the question.

“Just tell me who you are.”

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