The drizzle fell like a veil of grey silk, clinging to the dark wool of Linsy’s coat. The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and grief. Before her, the freshly turned soil of the grave was a stark, dark wound against the green grass. The carved name Flora’ seemed to bleed into the granite.

“I’m just thinking about you!” Zack’s voice, sharp and strained, had cut through the quiet house earlier that morning, before they’d left for the cemetery. She’d been standing with her ...