Maybe the house is haunted. Maybe it isn't. Those aren't really the ghosts I mean, though. There are shadows left behind here, like fingerprints smeared across glass. My grandfather. My parents. Others I'll probably never know the names of. I'm not sure I'm ready to meet any of them through whatever they left behind. The thought of sorting through a dead man's life, a man I never knew but who apparently knew me well enough to leave me everything, makes my stomach twist.
Han clears his throat and presses the pen into my hand. His fingers are calloused, warm, and the brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through me. He gives me the short version of what's on each page and points to where I'm supposed to sign. I don't want to trust him. I do anyway. There's something about the steady way he
