I had done this same ceremony in Taiwan, deep in the mountains, where grandfather had relatives buried. We built a large fire for burning paper money, separate fires for ancestors and for gods. Here all we had was incense and these portraits of people I did not know.

The sketches were from grandmother’s side, and the pictures from grandfather’s. Their mothers, fathers, siblings? Somewhere in there were people who knew my grandmother, how strong she could be, who could lend me the conviction that she would not leave me, not now, not when I was just beginning to understand her, flaws and all.

“Please,” I whispered to the empty house. A clump of burnt incense fell onto the table. I gripped the corner of the cushion, bunching the fabric between my fingers. I don’t know who I was addressing—one of grandfather’s relatives, or maybe grandmother’s mother, or her aunt, or maybe even her own grandmother.

“Please,” I whispered again, my voice shaking as the tears came, thinking of grandmother alone in an unfamiliar room, hurt and terrified, and grandfather alone in the hospital waiting room, waiting for news of his lifelong companion, wearing his fraying pajamas. And to think only a few days earlier, I had been so confident that I would have time to connect with grandmother, believing the pencil and whatever Meng had to say would solve my problems. To think I had basked in the strength of a Reforged word, believed I could claim this small advantage against the world. The power was ultimately useless when it mattered. Instead of all that time spent learning about pencils, or working on EMBRS, perhaps the right thing to do had been to talk to her. Pencils and technology—could they really be a substitute for human connection?

I bowed my head to the cushion, my forehead meeting the cool fabric. My tears fell in heavy drops.

“Please don’t leave us alone,” I whispered.

I did manage to sleep, the tears tiring me out. I woke to the sun shining into my room. It could have been late morning. The sooner I got out of bed, the better. But it was another case of confirming reality, so instead I lay there staring up at the ceiling.

The worst possibility was the doctors were not able to save her, that she was dead. Grandfather would be heartbroken. I would take over cooking. Maybe my father would return. I would take the next semester off. Grandfather could be convinced to move to a smaller place with no stairs. I would take the job with Prof. Logan so I could stay home with grandfather, to ensure he wouldn’t be alone.

I thought mechanically, logistics only. It was all I could manage. Prepared for the worst, I reached for my phone, fingers tapping the carpet, coming back with nothing. I leaned over to find the place where my phone normally sat empty.