The graveyard was silent.
Not the peaceful kind of silence—this was the kind that settled uneasily in your chest that felt heavy and wrong. The kind that made every rustling sound like a whisper, that made one’s skin stand on edge. I didn’t like being here.
But I had to be.
Mark stood beside me, his presence comforting, but I could feel how tense he was. He never liked coming here either.
Still, he hadn’t hesitated when I told him I wanted to visit my father’s grave.
The headstone was old, weathered by time and rain, but the name was still there.
Paul Wesley
I swallowed the sib building in my throat and knelt down, brushing dirt from the base of the stone. My fingers trembled slightly, and I hated that.
I had cried over this grave too many times but I had promised myself that I was
