The morning of Margaret's funeral dawned gray and heavy with the promise of rain....the kind of weather that felt almost deliberate, as though the sky itself was acknowledging the loss.
Eve stood at the bedroom window, already dressed in the black dress that Maya and Elena had helped her choose three days ago. Simple, elegant, appropriate. The kind of dress Margaret would have approved of....respectful without being theatrical.
Behind her, she could feel her mates moving through their own preparations. Damian adjusting his tie. Damon checking his phone one final time before putting it away....pack business could wait today. Silas simply present, his steady energy a constant anchor through the bond.
"It's time," Silas said quietly, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder.
