The clock on Sebastian's wall read 3:47 AM, but he hadn't slept. Sleep was a luxury for people who didn't have questions eating them alive from the inside out.
His room looked like a detective's war room. Papers covered every surface printed photos, documents, timelines. His laptop displayed multiple screens: satellite images, news articles, classified military reports, social media profiles.
And at the center of it all, two photographs pinned side by side.
Emily Smith, stepping out of Timothy's BMW.
Princess Emily of Norvale, barely visible through battlefield smoke, taken moments before her reported death.
Sebastian had been staring at them for hours, comparing every detail, running facial recognition software he'd hacked from a government database, cross-referencing dates and locations.
The software had given him a 94.7% match.
Statistically impossible to be two different people.
But logically impossible to be the same person.
