I couldn't tear my eyes away from the image on Tyler's phone. The resemblance was undeniable—the Guardian had Isabelle's face. No, that wasn't quite right. The longer I stared, the more subtle differences I noticed. The jawline was sharper, the eyes deeper set, the expression more severe.
"This isn't Isabelle," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Tyler tilted his head, studying me. "No, it's not. But I suspect you see the resemblance to someone you know."
I handed the phone back to him, careful to keep my expression neutral. "What exactly are you showing me, Tyler?"
He pocketed the device and glanced around to ensure we were still alone. "Follow me. There's more I need to show you, but not here."
We slipped away from the main celebration, through a side corridor adorned with priceless artwork. Tyler led me to a small, private study at the end of the hall. Once inside, he locked the door behind us.
