Samuel had come back at some point. He grabbed my wrist and hauled me into the exhibition area. I stumbled, off-balance. The camera bag nearly spilled from my hands, and a lens struck the ground with a sharp, brittle crack.
This was the first time in five years I had picked up a camera.
Terror engulfed me in an instant. My fingers shook uncontrollably, violently, and I couldn't press the shutter.
I forced myself to breathe. Forced myself to be calm. One deep breath. Then I began, frame by frame, documenting the still-life displays at the showcase. But every time the shutter clicked, I saw my mother. Teaching me. Guiding my hands. My heart felt crushed in an invisible fist, squeezed so tight I couldn't breathe.
During the intermission, the rest of the staff left to take a break. Only Selene and I remained.
She walked over, loomed above me, and looked down at the images I'd captured. A sneer of pure contempt twisted her lips. Her voice was cutting and cruel.