Rue’s POV

The car idled quietly on the snow-drowned road, the heater humming softly, struggling against the cold that had followed us from the grave. His hands rested on the steering wheel, but he did not drive. He stared straight ahead, as if the darkness beyond the windshield held answers he had never dared to ask.

“Today,” he said at last, “is the anniversary of my father’s death.”

I turned toward him, my heart tightening. There was something exposed in the way he said it, as if ...