The train arrived in a rush of wind and noise, and I boarded automatically, finding a pole to grip as we lurched forward.
The earlier heat from the café faded, replaced by something heavier.
Responsibility.
I needed answers. Needed to understand what my sister had built here—and why it mattered enough that she’d hidden it from everyone back home.
And yet …
Every time my thoughts quieted, they slid right back to Kane.
To the way his voice dropped when he spoke close.
To the look in his eyes when I told him what I wanted.
To the way his attention locked onto me like I was the only thing in the room worth noticing.
I shifted my grip on the pole, heart doing something stupid at the memory.
Stop.
He was probably already gone. Back to whatever mysterious, dangerous job he’d hinted at. Back to his own life.
Men like that didn’t linger.
Men like that didn’t come back.
Still.
My phone felt heavy in my pocket.
I’d given him my number.
Which meant …
If he called, it would be because he wanted to.
Not because I chased him.
The thought settled oddly in my chest.
Hopeful.
Terrifying.
I shoved it aside as the train slowed near my stop.
One crisis at a time.
The funeral service handling Rose’s cremation occupied a narrow, quiet office tucked between a pharmacy and a tailoring shop. Neutral sign. Discreet windows. A place designed not to intrude on the living.
Inside, everything was hushed.
A woman greeted me kindly—thank God—and switched easily to English when my French faltered.
Paperwork followed. More signatures. More forms.
Death, as the doctor had said, was administrative.
