The underground nursery fell into complete silence.
The old photograph remained in Adam's trembling hands.
A family portrait from 1931.
A mother.
A father.
And a young boy standing between them.
A young boy with Adam's face.
Not similar.
Not close.
Exactly the same.
The same eyes.
The same expression.
The same child.
And beneath the photograph, written in faded ink:
He came back again.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
The live feed transmitted every second of Adam's reaction back to the hotel lobby.
Elara watched his face carefully.
The anger that had driven him for years was gone.
The certainty was gone.
The confidence was gone.
For the first time, Adam looked like a frightened child.
A child who had just discovered that his entire life might be a lie.
Richard stood bes
