I had seen that photograph before.
It had sat on my bedroom dresser for years.
But this wasn’t the same photograph.
This one had been taken only seconds later.
Someone else had stepped into the frame.
A young woman.
Maybe twenty.
Maybe twenty-one.
Dark hair.
Thin face.
One hand resting on my shoulder.
The other holding Douglas’s.
I stared at her.
Something about her face made my skin turn cold.
Lucas leaned closer.
His breath caught.
Elena whispered his name.
Because he had seen it too.
The eyes.
His eyes.
Lucas’s eyes.
He took the photograph with trembling fingers.
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
But that wasn’t entirely true.
I knew I had seen her.
Somewhere.
Long ago.
Then Douglas spoke.
His voice was barely audible.
“I remember her.”
I turned.
“Who?”
His face had gone white.
“She worked at the camp.”
“What’s her name?”
