I wasn’t sure I could find Caro’s grave on my own. I’d driven in with Theo, looping around the twisting roads in a car. On foot, entering from a gate on the far side of the cemetery, I could roam over the grassy hills with tombstones sprouting like toadstools, walking in a crooked approximation of how the crow flies. I was distracted by monuments and mausoleums whispering of grandiose fantasies. There was a lot of beauty in this place, but everything I appreciated was a reminder of another family’s loss. I didn’t mind the detailed pyramids and castles—even if they felt more like monuments to big egos instead of people—but the statues of sweet children and gentle lambs and doomed lovers overwhelmed me. I wasn’t the sentimental type, but the atmosphere of unrelenting grief inched under my skin like dampness, making my bones ache.

By the time I got to my sister’s grave, I was ready to lie down beside her. The line from her letter—I know Deirdre is difficult—still stuck in my craw, but it wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t just difficult—I prided myself on it, going toe-to-toe with people I despised. I wondered how, exactly, I’d gotten that way. It had been part of my nature as long as I could remember.

“You could’ve told me how you felt when you were alive,” I said, plopping down onto the grass. “It would’ve made everything easier.”

The gravediggers had filled the hole with dirt, leaving a raised brown scar in the green grass. The small stone marker was covered by a bouquet of white roses with their heavy blooms drooping, as if they’d fallen asleep.

I sat quietly for a while, wishing I could channel my sister’s spirit. Why didn’t you tell me what was going on with you? I wanted to ask her. Why feed me a handful of bread crumbs after you’re already gone?

In the quiet of the graveyard, I couldn’t help but think about the difference in tone between the letter she’d written to our father and the one she’d sent me. The guy from Osiris’s Vault, Todd, had said something about different versions of her note to me. Maybe that was because she’d dashed it off early in the morning, less than an hour before she died. Her letter to our father was thoughtful and measured, even if it contained painful truths. Her message to me was rushed and panicked. Something had terrified her.

Theo killed his first wife and got away with it. Bring him to justice, no matter what you have to do.