CHAPTER FOUR
Ilse stood among a sea of people clad in dark colors, facing a stage, where the final mourner leaned on a podium to support herself, speaking through tears as she recited from a sheet of damp paper.
Ilse's hands were trembling, and so she clasped them in front, fidgeting uncomfortably in her black sweater.
She hadn't wanted to wear a dress or a suit. Claudia had understood at the time. She would understand now.
Ilse glanced towards Mitchell, who stood at her side, his eyes closed, his head bowed as if in silent prayer, one of his fingers on his good hand tracing a metal socket on his prosthetic arm. Around and around the finger went, circling and circling.
Her mentor's motions mimicked Ilse's thoughts. Around and around. Her nerves had been frayed ever since meeting her f
