A teenage boy with messy dark hair and a swollen black eye from a schoolyard fight, scowling fiercely at the lens while holding the tiny hand of a little girl missing her two front teeth.
Vincent made a sound—a choked, ragged gasp that tore straight out of his chest.
The woman in the reflective jacket took a step forward, her face draining of what little color it had left. How… where did you get that?
Vincent rose from the stones. He felt lightheaded, untethered from the ground beneath his feet. He looked at the woman—really looked at her.
He had seen her before in the background of the logistics yard, pushing industrial carts, wiping down the dispatch desks, always keeping her head down, always blending into the gray background of the working class. But looking at her now, standing in the harsh morning glare with her hair coming loose from
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