My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
They hovered over the keyboard, fingers cold, numb, useless. On the screen—
Me.
A newborn wrapped in a pale hospital blanket. Eyes squeezed shut. Tiny fists curled against my cheeks. The timestamp glowed faintly in the corner of the photo.
It was the same picture.
The one in my father’s bedroom.
The one he kept on the nightstand beside his bed.
My throat tightened.
Why does Zander have this?
The folder title at the top of the screen felt heavier now.
**Missing child.**
My pulse thudded in my ears.
He clicked to the next image.
A sketch.
Charcoal lines forming the outline of a little girl. Round cheeks. Large eyes. Dark hair falling past her shoulders.
It wasn’t an exact match.
But it was close.
Too close.
Another click.
The same girl—older
