They drifted toward the living room's back wall where the shelf held its little row of frames. Raizen's eye caught on one in the middle because it was older, sun-licked at the edges and worn in the way of things that had been handled often. Seven figures stood shoulder to shoulder in the picture, the background a training ground that might have been the Academy before the current glass and scarlet. The seven wore no uniform anyone would recognize, just gear that looked like it belonged on them. Kori was there, younger by a handful of years and the distance of a whole life, chin up, tape on her knuckles even then. Three of the faces had been scribbled over with black marker, lines pressed hard enough to leave a groove. It didn't ruin the photo. It turned it into a statement.
Raizen found himself closer to it than he had intended. "Who is this?"
