“What’s your sister’s name?” Victor asked.
“June,” she replied, her voice softening immediately. “She’s eight months old.”
Victor swallowed hard.
“And your mother?” he asked next. “What was her name?”
Clara paused, lowering her eyes. “Elena Monroe. She sewed dresses at home. She passed away last winter. Pneumonia.”
Victor’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Elena.
The name hit him like a blow.
This wasn’t chance.
“Did your mother have a mark like yours?” he asked quietly.
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