Standing by the door were Zygons—morphed with haunting precision into the familiar faces of her parents.
Even a great master of disguise couldn't have done as good a job as the Zygon's shapeshifting ability. The illusion was flawless, terrifyingly accurate. Their posture, the tilt of their heads, even the subtle way her mother always tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—it was all there. Everything looked so perfectly real that it made her chest ache.
The door creaked as it was pushed open, and Harriet instantly sprang to her feet, vivid happiness breaking across her face like sunrise. It was the kind of joy she hadn't even shown when she'd reunited with her siblings earlier. This joy was something deeper, more primal—something that came from a hope she thought had long since been buried.
