Marcus walked beside him, a leather briefcase under his arm. Through private legal channels, he’d verified that a student named Maya Ross was graduating that evening.

She had enrolled as a transfer student two semesters after Valerie’s supposed death. There were no clear prior records. No parent details on the registry.

No history. Just a headshot. And those eyes.

Alexander froze in front of the outdoor graduate portrait board. There she was. Maya Ross. Her face was thinner. A faint, precise scar ran along her right eyebrow.

Her dark hair was cut shorter. But the eyes belonged entirely to Valerie.

“It’s her,” Alexander choked out.