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Then she noticed the girl’s eyes.

The photo was a selfie, taken in a dimly lit bedroom. A girl, maybe nineteen, with dark braids and a silver nose ring, smiled at the camera. She wore an oversized band t-shirt—The Cure, Disintegration album art faded to a ghostly violet. Behind her, a cracked window showed a sliver of city night. Ordinary. Alive. SS Mila jpg

Elena’s hand jerked back from the mouse. The precinct was empty—the night shift skeleton crew out on calls. Her own breathing sounded too loud. Then she noticed the girl’s eyes

She didn’t wait to find out. She grabbed her coat and ran for the door. SS Mila jpg