Gray eyes.
Christopher’s eyes.
My stomach dropped.
“Claire,” he said.
I slammed the door.
He caught it with his hand.
The chain snapped tight.
Sadie screamed.
“Get away from us!”
The old man released the door.
I shoved it closed and locked the deadbolt.
My hands shook so badly I could barely turn it.
“Claire.”
His voice came through the wood.
“My name is Thomas Hale.”
I stopped moving.
Behind me, Sadie gasped.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered.
“I know what Christopher told you.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“He told me you were dead.”
A pause.
Then the old man answered.
“He needed you to believe that.”
I looked at Sadie.
Her face was white.
“Why?”
The answer came softly.
“Because for the last ten years, Christopher was pretending to be me.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
I opened the door again, leaving the broken chain hanging uselessly.
Thomas Hale stood beneath the porch light.
Up close, the resemblance to Christopher was undeniable.
Not identical.
But undeniable.
The same eyes.
The same shape of the mouth.
The same habit of tilting his head slightly before speaking.
“You have thirty seconds,” I said.
He looked past me toward Sadie.
