They walked through the gates together.
The cemetery transformed at night. No morning dew, no distant mourners, no birdsong. Just darkness and silence and the rustle of wind through old oaks.
Still, Simon's feet found the familiar path. Past the newer sections with their uniform markers, deeper into the oldgrounds where the trees grew thicker. He'd walked this route hundreds of times.
Charlie followed a few steps behind, quiet.
Finally, they reached their destination.
"Margaret Hale. Beloved Mother. 1978-2012."
Simon knelt. The damp grass soaked through his pants immediately, cold against his knees. He unwrapped the lilies and placed them against the headstone. Perfect white against gray stone.
Charlie touched his shoulder. Light. Barely there. "I'll be right over there."
He gestured to a bench maybe twenty feet away, half-hidden by another oak. Close enough if Simon needed him. Far enough to give privacy.
Simon nodded.
Charlie squeezed his shoulder once and walked away, settling onto the bench with his back against the tree. He pulled out his phone, the screen casting pale light across his face, but Simon could tell he wasn't really looking at it.
Just giving Simon space.
Simon sat back on his heels.
"Hi, Mom."
The words still felt stupid. Still felt like talking to nothing. But he said them anyway, like he always did.
"I brought better flowers this time, just like I promised." Simon licked his lips. There were so many more things he needed to say.
"Last time I was here, I promised I'd hunt down Charlie Dracul and eliminate him." Simon's fingers found a blade of grass, tore it into small pieces. "I was so sure I knew what needed to be done. What you would have wanted."
A car passed on the road beyond the gates. Distant. Irrelevant.
"Turns out I didn't know anything."
Simon's jaw clenched. Where to even start? How to explain the past few weeks when he barely understood them himself?
"I met your killer," he said flatly. "At some bullshit vampire healing center. He was just... there. Drinking ethical blood and talking about meditation like he hadn't murdered you in our apartment ten years ago."
His hands curled into fists.
"Reuben arranged your death." The words tasted like poison. "All so I could watch it, so he could turn me into a better hunter." Something broke in his chest, turning his voice rough. "I spent ten years following his orders, taking his pills, killing for him. Because I thought he saved me. But he's the one who took you from me in the first place."
The wind picked up, rattling branches overhead.
"I killed him," Simon confessed. "I put a bullet in him when he tried to kill Charlie. And I don't regret it. Not even a little."
He reached out, traced the carved letters of her name. The stone was cold under his fingers.
"Charlie's the vampire I was supposed to eliminate. Hunt number one-eighteen. Except he's not really..." Simon stopped. Started over. "He's nothing like what I expected. He showed me I was wrong. About vampires. About the Organization. About what I was supposed to be." The words came harder now, scraping against something raw in his throat. "He's kind, Mom. Genuinely kind. And the way he looks at me…"
Simon's vision blurred at the edges. He wasn't crying, though. He never cried.
"I'm a vampire now, but Charlie said I could choose whatkindof vampire to be. That turning didn't mean I had to become what killed you. That I could be something different."
His hands shook. He pressed them flat against his thighs.
