"Marcus, who is this woman?"
Aria stood in the doorway holding the silver-framed photograph, and her voice was sharp with confusion and something that sounded almost like fear.
Marcus opened his eyes and looked at her, and confusion showed on his face at the intensity of her tone.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, sitting up carefully despite the pain in his ribs.
Aria crossed to the bed and held out the photograph, and Marcus took it from her hands with an expression that shifted immediately to something raw and grief-stricken.
"Where did you find this?" Marcus asked quietly, and his fingers traced the frame with unconscious tenderness.
"In your study," Aria said. "On the bookshelf by the window. Marcus, who is she?"
Marcus stared at the photograph for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion.
