Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Nobody spoke.
The photograph remained displayed on Adrian's screen.
Bright.
Clear.
Impossible.
And yet there it was.
Isabelle Sinclair.
Alive.
Smiling.
Standing beside the daughter the world believed was dead.
For several seconds, the conference room felt disconnected from reality.
Camille stared at the image.
Then stared again.
Because surely there had to be an explanation.
An old photograph.
A manipulated image.
Artificial intelligence.
Something.
Anything.
But deep down, she already knew what made this terrifying.
Chanel's reaction.
The woman wasn't acting.
She wasn't manipulating.
She wasn't performing.
She looked devastated.
And that frightened Camille more than the photograph itself.
Chanel slowly approached the screen.
Like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
The first genuine crack in her perfect composure.
"No"
The whisper barely reached the room.
