Page 53 of Crow’s Shadow

Empty.

Fresh white satin lines the inside. No dust. No dirt. No note.

Nothing except a box somebody went to a hell of a lot of trouble to send to Grimstone with my real name screwed to the lid.

“It’s a message,” Crow says.

“I know.”

My voice barely sounds like mine.

Because I’ve seen one before.

A long time ago. Before Grimstone. Before Ember.

You get the coffin first.

Then you get a week. Maybe two.

After that, they come and fill it.

They always fill it.

Grim looks at me. “Who?”

I finally put the beer down.

“People I hoped were dead.”

The passenger door of the flatbed opens.

A woman climbs out.

And the case slips from my hands anyway.

Bottles hit gravel. Glass breaks.

I don’t hear any of it.

I know her.

She’s thinner than she was. Harder. There’s a scar through one eyebrow that wasn’t there the last time I saw her.

But I know her. God help me.

“Hello, little sister.”

My knees nearly give.

“Wren?”

She gives me the smallest smile.

My sister.

My dead fucking sister.

“You’re dead.” Stupid words, but they’re the only ones I have. “They told me you were dead.”