They were surveillance photographs.

They were pictures of me.

Chapter 12 — The Photographs

There I was, in photograph after photograph, my whole ordinary life documented by a stranger’s careful lens.

There I was walking into the restaurant in my work clothes.

There I was leaving my apartment building in the morning, my bag over my shoulder.

And there, in the photograph that made my breath catch hardest, there I was sitting at my own kitchen table, through what must have been a window, across from my sister Chloe, the two of us bent over something, utterly unaware that we were being watched.

Someone had been following me.