The two remained in the same position they had assumed while watching the tapes.
Time slipped away unnoticed. The night had grown deep; the moonlight filtering through the glass dome shifted from silver to a pale, translucent gray. On the rug, the tapes were rewound and replayed, over and over, as if the sounds of the past could fill the hollows of the present.
Whenever the Adrian on the screen spoke of a specific memory, Selena’s voice would rise to meet it—questioning, lamenting, or choking back a sob.
Beneath her lowered lashes, Selena’s eyes were cold and perfectly clear. She maintained the facade of a grief-stricken sister, probing every detail of the recorded stories. She was a predator disguised as a mourner, refusing to let a single second of the "real" Adrian’s life go unexamin
