“Different details,” Izzy said.
Caitlin straightened slowly, scanning the table again, her curator brain fully engaged now. There was a faint, almost disbelieving light in her eyes, like she couldn’t quite believe what they were standing in the middle of.
“This isn’t random,” she said. “This is intentional.”
“She was tracking something.”
“This is insane,” Caitlin murmured, more to herself than to Izzy. “Do you understand how good this is?”
Izzy did. On a professional level, it was the kind of discovery people dreamed about. On a personal note, it felt like Clara had reached out of the past and grabbed both of them by the collar.
The barn door creaked open behind them.
Boots crossed the wood floor.
“Well,” Burke said, “I see I’m late to the operation.”
Caitlin glanced up, immediately softening.
“You’re right on time,” she said. “Come look at this.”
Burke walked up beside her, one hand resting automatically at her back as he leaned in over the table.
He took it in slowly.
The volume of it.
The organization.
The sheer amount of work.
“Damn,” he said under his breath. “Y’all weren’t kidding.”
Izzy pushed off the table.
“So?” she asked. “Did you find anything?”
Burke exhaled once, reaching into the folder tucked under his arm.
“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”
Both women went still.
Caitlin turned fully toward him. “Okay—what do we have?”
Burke set the folder down on a cleared corner of the table, careful not to disturb anything.
“Clara Vale,” he said. “Reported missing. Summer of ’99.”
Izzy’s stomach tightened.
“Who reported it?” she asked.
Burke flipped the first page.
“Sam Talley.”
Caitlin’s head came up. “Sam Talley?”
