“Thank you. For everything.”
She hurried away from the mirror.
In her room she found Beni. His angular face was her father’s replica—although, unlike Jules Heroux, her brother wore his heart on his sleeve. His green eyes were puffy from crying, and his narrow shoulders were hunched. Her heart, already broken, split again at the sight of him. She pulled him into her arms, and they held each other and sobbed.
Three days passed in a blur of condolences, sleepless nights, and tears. Scarlett sat in the armchair in front of the mirror. It was nearly midnight, and her father’s funeral was tomorrow morning. The moments she tried to fall asleep were the hardest, so she was resisting going to bed even though it was late.
Brayden was on the other side of the glass, like he had been every night since her dad’s death. He’d stayed up with her while she sat in her armchair alternating between talking, crying, and dozing. Being near him helped. She could lean on him without having to be strong for him like she did with Beni.
On Brayden’s side, Lachlan’s couch was as close to the mirror as it could be. Brayden lay there staring at her, his face half in shadow, lit only by the dying fire. On her side of the mirror, a dim lamp on a nearby table fended off the darkness.
“What do you think it’s like when we die? Do you think some part of us lives on?” she asked. The question came out of nowhere. They’d been sitting in comfortable silence for several minutes.
He shifted, adjusting the pillow resting under his head. “I believe we’re more than some meat on a bunch of bones, so yes, I think some part of us lives on.”
“Really?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah. I mean, how could we not be? It would be ridiculous if all this were meaningless. If death wasit. Art, music, my friends, my brother, you—all of it’s too wonderful to be random.”
His words brought her some relief, and she smiled softly. Her father had dismissed any belief in the unseen as foolish. Facing his death would be much harder if she chose to believe it was the true end of him. But she still thought his spirit was out there, and leaning into that made her feel better. It was still painful, but the pain wasn’t as brutal. Knowing Brayden believed the same brought her even more comfort.
“I agree.” Scarlett’s throat was thick. “The world we’ve built, the love we have, the dreams we dream… it makes more sense to me that the souls who create such beautiful things live on somehow. I think we’ll be together again.” Her voice broke.
Brayden reached out and touched the glass. He reached for her often when she broke down, even though the glass was always there. “You’ll see your father again. He’ll be waiting for you when you die. Just like our mams will be waiting for us.”
Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed quietly, and she lifted the blanket in her lap to wipe the tears away as they fell. Brayden had lost his mum at a young age too. They’d bonded over that as children, the loss of their mothers. Thinking of Brayden’s mother always made her emotional, especially now. Probably because his pain was so similar to hers. They were both hurt in the same way, deep down. Scarlett wished she could climb through the mirror and lie in his arms.
“I’ll be there waiting for you if I die first,” he added. “I promise.”
She cried harder, and each breath was an effort. “Don’t make me think abouty-yougoing first. You’re not allowed to d-die before me.” The loss of him would kill her.
“Sorry. I’ll try not to. It’s harder for the ones who get left behind.” He smiled. “Maybe we can go at the same time. Maybeif we’re lucky, we’ll die in our sleep on the same night when we’re old and ready to go. How cool would that be?”
His odd excitement over something so macabre soothed her somehow, and her breathing became smoother. “Yes, please. At the same time. But let me go, like, one minute before you do.”
He smiled sadly. “Okay, but just one. I’ll follow you into the dark.”
The next day, Scarlett and her family made their way to the Tornaling National Cemetery, on the far eastern side of Soleil, for the funeral. She’d come to the cemetery plenty of times to visit her mother’s grave, and now she’d be visiting her father here too.
Far from the canals that surrounded the heart of the city, rows and rows of white tombstones peppered the thick green grass. Rare cloud cover kept the summer sun from beating down on Scarlett’s head as hundreds of dignitaries surrounded the casket, but her outfit still made her miserable even without the direct sun. The waistband of her tights dug into her stomach as she sat down, and the new black dress, delivered by Laylani that morning, made her skin itch. Scarlett’s vision blurred as she stared at the Soleil flag covering the polished wood box that held what was left of her dad.
A large security detail hovered around Scarlett and her family, keeping away anyone who tried to approach. They’d escorted them to the ceremony and would be taking them home again afterward, as if anyone cared what happened to them now that her father was gone. An honor guard dressed in full ceremonial military attire stood at attention alongside the casket, waiting to bear it to her father’s final resting place. Police and military swarmed the perimeter, probably trying to look useful to compensate for how they’d failed to protect their prime ministerfour days ago, but Scarlett ignored them. They were all trying to look important and busy, but none of them could doanything to make it better.
The investigation into who’d shot her father was the only thing being spoken about in the news, but all the coverage was pure speculation, because the Soleil Bureau of Investigation had no leads. The greatest country in the world, with the best technology, and there was not a single fucking lead.
Scarlett stood between her grandmother and Beni while the Chief Justice of Soleil gave the eulogy.
“Prime Minister Jules Heroux led a life of service, from his time in the navy to the day he died…”
The crowd was silent.
As Scarlett stared at the casket, images of her father flashed through her mind. She saw him across the dinner table at home, smiling at her; sitting on her bed and talking politics with her while she studied; holding her and gruffly patting her back when she cried as a child. Never again would she see him laugh or make him proud. He wouldn’t be there if she ever got married.
Her father had held Scarlett’s hand at her mother’s funeral in this same cemetery. Now her father was gone too. Time had healed her grief over her mother’s death, but her father’s murder had sliced into that old scar, reopening it and deepening it.
They were both gone. Scarlett was alone.
The speaker’s words didn’t reach her.
