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Hell, I surprise myself.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I need my suitcase. My purse. My school books. The picture on the nightstand.”

I grab everything except the picture.

That one I leave for her.

She picks it up last, holding it close to her chest. I catch a glimpse of a woman with the same smile and softer eyes.

Her mother, maybe.

Not today, she said earlier.

Not today means later, if she gets a later.

She zips the suitcase. “That’s all.”

That’s all. A whole life in one bag and a picture frame.

I carry the suitcase out because she lets me.

That feels like winning and losing in the same breath.

Back at the truck, Nevermore and Ghoul split off. Ghoul takes the bandana to CSI. Nevermore rides ahead again, making sure no Reaper follows.

Sweet sits beside me with her purse in her lap and the picture frame face down against her thigh. She doesn’t speak until we turn off the highway and onto the road behind the funeral home.

“Where exactly are you taking me?”

“My place.”

“You said apartment.”

“It is.”

“Over a garage.”

“Behind the old embalming building.”

“That sounds like the start of a Dateline episode.”

“The locks are good.”

“Dateline men always say that.”

I glance at her. “You watch a lot of Dateline?”

“I’m a woman. It’s educational programming.”

“Fair.”

She looks out the window, but her mouth softens.

The apartment sits above the old garage where we store bikes, tools, and things Hyde doesn’t want left near curious hands. It ain’t fancy. Wooden stairs outside, steel door at the top, cameras on both corners, windows facing the south lot and cemetery road.