Emma tried everything. She set up a camera on her windowsill to capture the late-morning light where the double liked to show. The footage, when she reviewed it at midnight with the playback slowed, showed a shimmer and then—nothing. She sat alone in rooms where the other Emma had been seen, calling her name into corners, her voice swallowed like a stone dropped into a well. The town supplied theories. Maybe it was a prank, maybe an art project, maybe a trick of the brain.