Ashley Reynolds sat in the second-floor room of a weathered yellow house that overlooked a playground and a back alley. The walls were blank, save for the photos—rows and rows of them, pinned like specimens on cork boards.
Tiffany. Riley. Cole.
Each picture was marked.
Each moment cataloged.
She sipped coffee that had long gone cold, barely tasting it. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing laptop in front of her. She scrubbed through footage downloaded from a hacked school security feed. It was grainy but useful.
Tiffany and Cole sitting under the bleachers. Laughing.
Riley standing alone near the courtyard. Staring.
Landon Bryce exiting his car, checking his watch.
She clicked a folder marked “A” and opened a paused video.
The still image showed herself, 10 years ago, looking younge
