Elena’s Pov

The name still hung in the air between us.

Mrs. Carter’s question.

*You know that name?*

had not faded. It sat in the quiet of the childhood bedroom like something that refused to settle. I stood with the photograph in both hands, the edges of the paper pressing into my palms, the blue stone of the bracelet resting hard against my pulse. Young Nik looked back at me from the image: dark hair across a forehead that had not yet learned the weight of boardrooms, eyes already too serious for a child, the garden behind him soft with late light. The handwriting on the reverse side remained clear...