"The photograph," Silo said.
Everyone looked at him.
"On the contest filing," he said. "Mitch. Is there a photograph attached."
Mitch checked. His expression did the alarming thing. The real one this time. "Yes."
"Show me."
Mitch turned the phone toward Silo.
Silo looked at it for a long moment. Something moving in his jaw.
He turned the phone toward me.
The photograph was taken from outside. Through glass. The compound's main building window — the one that faced the internal yard. It was taken recently. Recently enough that what it showed was Ryke, standing at that window, with a baby on his chest.
My stomach went cold.
"He was here," I said. "Inside the perimeter."
"During the birth," Silo said. Flat. The flatness of a man accounting for a failure he's not going to perform gui
