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Instead, she walked to the car, started the engine, and drove toward the Bürgeramt with four small rectangles of herself riding shotgun.

Marta had exactly 34 minutes before the Bürgeramt closed. Her old passport sat on the passenger seat, its photo showing a ghost from seven years ago—bangs, a different nose ring, and the exhausted optimism of someone who’d just moved to Berlin. passbilder rossmann

She looked. The camera was a small black lens embedded above the screen. It felt less like photography and more like an eye exam. Instead, she walked to the car, started the

“Look at the camera.”