All of it still there.
And emptied of refuge.
"We have Liora here," the woman said quietly, and with a strange, terrible calm she laid a hand on the shoulder of the double—the one wearing Liora's face as though it had always belonged to her.
The gesture was intimate. Claiming. Maternal. The kind of touch that could not be faked—except that it was. Or perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps, to that woman, the double was already her daughter, and Liora was only a stranger who looked like a ghost.
Liora felt something inside her recoil so violently it hurt worse than the fresh wounds. A spasm ran through her chest that had nothing to do with broken ribs.
The woman's gaze returned to her prisoner.
"You are the impostor."
