Lovers.
He was her lover.
Holy shit.
The longer Morana stared at the photograph, the more she hoped he'd acquired it from somewhere, that he wasn't the photographer. Because if he was… she didn't know what to think of it. But the more she thought of it, the more things became clearer in her head, and yet more questions arose in her mind.
Fuck.
Morana sat stumped, trying to process, just hoping he wasn't the photographer.
Taking a deep breath, calming her mind to focus on the matter at hand while her thoughts ran chaos, Morana began to do her thing. She had forty-six hours and thirty-two minutes left.