Ava’s POV:
The photo is still open on my phone. I don’t look away from it. I don’t blink. I let it sit there between us like proof of a crime that hasn’t happened yet but already exists.
Julian stands a few feet away. I can feel him watching me without turning my head. His presence presses in, steady and contained, like a held breath. He doesn’t ask me what it is. He already knows it matters. He always knows when something matters.
The image is grainy but clear enough. My father stepping out of a building I recognize instantly. The one with the narrow entrance and the security guard who pretends not to see anything. The one my cousin warned me about once, casually, like it was just another place in the city that swallowed men whole. My father’s head is lowered. His shoulders look small
