Gemotions

The photograph. That was the first thing Elias saw. A face staring back at him, strikingly similar to his own, only with a wider smile. He tossed the print onto his desk, the glossy paper catching the weak sunlight filtering through the blinds. His knuckles were white as he clenched his hands.

He'd spent his life carefully crafting his identity, a solitary existence. This... disruption was unwelcome. He felt a deep, instinctive resistance to the idea.

Elias ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. He'd need proof. Solid, undeniable proof. The photograph, he knew, was not enough.