The image of Sarah on the screen burned into my retinas.
She looked older in the photo. Tired. But alive.
"It’s a trick," Caleb snarled, his voice vibrating with a rage so deep it shook the coffee mug on the console. "Digital manipulation. Deep-fake."
"No," I whispered, my fingers touching the cold screen where her face had been. "That’s her scar. On her chin. She got it when we were seven, falling off a swing set. She never let anyone photograph it. She always tilted her head to hide it."
I turned to Caleb, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"She’s hiding the scar in this picture, Caleb. Just like she always did. It’s her."
Caleb didn't answer. He was staring at the screen, his golden eyes narrowing into slits. The "Man" was gone; the "Wolf" was calculating the kill.
"I can'
