Chapter 19:
I stood on the porch with a photograph of my daughter in my hand and a note from my uncle in my other hand, and I felt something I hadn't felt in three years.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Rage.
It was cold and quiet and it sat in my chest like a stone.
"He was in the diner," I said.
Kael took the photo from me. Looked at it. His jaw moved.
"Two days ago," he said.
"Two days ago he was sitting in my diner taking pictures of my kid while I was carrying plates."
"Ella—"
"Which booth?"
Kael looked at me.
"What?"
"Which booth was he in? In the photo. You can tell by the angle."
He turned the photo over. Studied it. Solomon had been right about him — he looked at corners. At edges. At things people don't mean to show you.
"Booth on the left," he said. "Back wall. Behind the
