(Etienne's Point of view)
She spun around, face pulled taut in surprise, clutching a photograph in her hand. The paper trembled between her fingers; the light from the lamp picked out the glossy surface in a tiny, accusing glare.
My heart stopped.
"Etienne." Her voice shook. "What is this?"
I should've locked that drawer. Should've hidden it better. Damn — I should've done a thousand things differently.
"Put it back," I said quietly.
"No." She held it up. "This is me. From three years ago. Why do you have this?"
I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me; the click sounded final, like a punctuation. The air felt suddenly cooler, or maybe that was my skin, prickling. "You're going through my things."
"Answer the question."
"Give me the photo first."
"Not until you tell me why you have it." Her eyes flicked to the drawer, then back to me. "Why you have all of this. Alexander's watch. His cufflink?"
