Aurora’s P.O.V

I stand there, my fingers loosely interlaced with Riley’s, his quiet presence grounding me as the flames consume what was left of my father. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and ash, but it doesn’t choke me—it feels almost cleansing, like the end of something long overdue.

Riley’s small hand wrapped tightly around mine. He hasn’t said much since we arrived, but I can feel his quiet relief, the weight that has lifted from his young ...