Jackson lowered the torch in his hands to the neatly piled wooden pyre. The flames caught instantly on the dried wood, crackling as smoke curled into the darkness of the November sky. Shadows danced along the faces of the gathered mourners as the fire consumed his father’s body. As the eldest son, the duty to send his father off the old-fashioned way fell on his shoulders. He choked back his tears while his siblings consoled their mother, who sat motionless, lost in numb silence. They had always been family to me, which is why I stood among them, feeling the weight of their grief as if it were my own.
“This is all my fault.” Wyn muttered, her voice filled with heartbreak.
“Wynter, stop it," I murmured, voice thick with quiet insistence. "It could have been any one of us, so stop blaming
