It happens at the edge of an ordinary day. A routine walk home. A young woman kneels at a corner store, tying a shoelace. A soda can hisses open. A streetlight flickers on. Her phone buzzes once, then goes silent. She types a message no one will ever see: 'I am on my way.' The last known movement is small, almost imperceptible. A door left slightly ajar. A single, unseen step off the map.
We c...
