I remembered little of the drive from the city except tires sliding on wet asphalt. The car stopped before the wrought-iron gates of the Sterling manor.
Warm windows shone in the distance. Rain soaked through my suit as soon as I stepped outside.
I got out of the car. And I knelt.
On the first day, I knelt in mud and gravel until my knees burned. I stared at the closed gates and believed enough punishment might earn me one glance or one word.
By the second day, fever had set in. I shook in the rain while memories repeated behind my eyes: Chloe bleeding in the hospital, ashes in the wooden box, her empty stare at the summit.
The rain could not wash any of it away.
On the third night, I could see only the iron bars in front of me. My head sagged, and rain ran from my hair into my eyes.
