Page 164 of Brutal
Smaller, maybe. Narrower through the shoulders. Turned slightly away, as if already leaving.
I tighten my grip on the phone and stare at the image.
The second figure turns just enough that the light catches something near the throat.
A reflection.
Small, and split into two faint points.
The image is too blurry to prove anything. It could be a zipper pull. A button. A trick of the marina lights on wet fabric.
But my hand goes to my own throat before I can stop it.
I close my fingers around my pendant.
The scales.
Mine is silver.
My mother’s was gold.
No.
I don’t move.
Don’t blink.
Just stare.
Because if I look away, I might lose it.
Or worse, I might have to admit what I’m seeing.
The recognition sits just under the surface. Close enough to feel but not close enough to name, like when you have a word on the tip of your tongue.
Someone was with him before the confrontation.
Someone left before the brothers reached him.
Someone who might have been wearing a gold pendant shaped like the silver one currently burning against my skin.
I swipe to the next attachment. A handwritten note.
Subject arrived early. Not alone. Secondary presence confirmed prior to contact. Possible interference. Note: H. referenced “my girl” prior to engagement.
I read it again.
Then again.
“My girl,” I whisper.
It feels familiar. I’ve heard it before.
My mother’s voice?—
No.
That’s not relevant.
