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Skimming my daughter.

I couldn’t.

Then I stopped.

Something about the framing snagged at me. The edges. Too round. Too narrow. Like I wasn’t looking through a lens… but through something else.

Pain lanced through me. Instant. White-hot. My entire body shivered before I could stop it.

I looked closer.

My breathing stuttered.

A faded scope reticle marred the image.

Crosshairs over my family.

The reticle wasn’t drawn over the image. It belonged there.

This image was taken through a rifle scope.

This wasn’t a photograph of my family.

This was target acquisition.

I stopped breathing. Faintly aware Rafe moved closer.

“When was this?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I knew.

Grief hit me as I focused on the dress Theresa wore. Then the happiness on my daughter’s face.

The park.

The weather.

“Three weeks.” I whispered.

“What?” Rafe said.

“Three weeks before they died.”

There was only silence.

“The back,” Malek urged.

It took all my strength to turn it over.

Coordinates were written on the back. This time in someone’s handwriting.

Nothing else.

No explanation.

No message.