Page 114 of Hidden Memories

But my gut doesn’t ease. If anything, it’s getting worse.

I tell myself it’s going to take a long time for the adrenaline to wear off. The confrontation with my father. The gravity of everything that happened yesterday. It was a lot.

But deep down, I know better, my instincts tell me it’s not that.

Something is coming.

A knock at the door confirms it.

Santi tenses beside me before the sound even finishes echoing. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t speak—just rises from his seat with the kind of lethal grace that reminds me exactly what kind of man he is.

A protector.

A fighter.

I barely have time to steady myself before Anton and Gabriel step inside, the cold from the night rolling in with them.

Anton has the quiet intensity of a man who has lived in darkness and survived it. His sharp eyes flicker toward Theo, a kind moment of consideration before he shifts his attention to us. Gabriel, on the other hand, is steel—a rigid stance, unreadable face and the air of a man who never lets his guard down.

And that alone tells me this isn’t just an update. This is bad.

Santi gestures toward the kitchen, and we all move in silent agreement, gathering around the island. But no one sits.

That’s what unsettles me the most.

We all stand around the stools and Gabriel places a black backpack on the table. He pulls out a small plastic bag. In it are the photos that I found with the flash drives.

Anton takes the mug of coffee Santi offers him, nods in gratitude, then sets his eyes on me.

“We’d like you to take a look at these photos again.”

I flinch. “Why do you guys have these?”

Anton folds his hands on the counter. “These were left behind to be run by GhostEye. They work with the FBI regularly and used a couple of their tools to scan these photos.” He darts his gaze to Gabriel. “We just thought it would be a good idea to examine them again.”

Is there something these two aren’t telling me?

The photos feel heavier than they should, their glossy surfaces slick under my cautious fingers. I stare down at them, spread across the dining table under the dim kitchen light, trying to make sense of the unease they stir in me. Each picture is a snapshot of a life I don’t understand—an older woman, gray-haired and warm-eyed, standing on a rocky shoreline, sitting on a weathered porch, and holding the hand of a young child who could’ve been Nic as a boy.

Why didn’t I look at these more closely before? Who is this? Nic’s parents died in a tragic car crash when he was younger. He told me his only family was his grandmother who lived in Greece but is now dead, too.

Everyone stares at me as if waiting for me to say something. “This could be Nic as a boy. “Maybe with his grandma?”

Gabriel presses. “You’ve never seen this woman?”

I shake my head.

I told myself the drives were the priority—encrypted and full of secrets. These photos just seemed like… long-gone memories.

“You’re quiet,” Santi says, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.

I can tell he wants to reach out for me. I’d love to be in his arms right now.

I tap the corner of one picture showing the woman outside a modest house with peeling paint and a sagging porch. “Nicholas was something of a secretive guy, but these seem pretty meaningless to the investigation.” I glance up at Santi, searching for answers in his steady presence. “Nic’s family is all dead. Maybe it was his grandmother who took care of him when his parents passed? It would have been normal he’d safeguard things like this.”

Santi steps closer, sliding into the space next to me like he’s wrapping a protective shield around me. He peers down at the table. He picks up a photo and examines it. “But you don’t know who she is?”

Gabriel doesn’t just stare—he dissects. His gaze moves over me, taking inventory of my every twitch, every breath, every blink. It’s not cruelty, not exactly. Just clinical. Sharp. Like he’s already built six different theories about what I’ll say before I’ve even opened my mouth.

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