As Serrin took a step into the room and looked around, it was his paleness and the gray eyes that she recognized. The slope of his forehead. The limp in his movement, the bad leg. Then she realized that she could have seen the eyes, the pallor, the brow, in the photograph. Nasrah could have read her the detail about the leg. But she couldn’t have known the way he moved from words and pictures on paper, and yet she did. She knew exactly how he favored his one good leg, how he tried to compensate, because she recognized it. And that truly frightened her.