Three weeks later, Marcus stood in the courtyard where they'd buried Mrs. Hart, a real headstone now standing where broken shelving once marked her grave. Elena held his hand, quiet as she read the engraving one more time.
"Margaret Hart," Elena read softly. "Beloved friend, brave to the end."
"You helped pick those words," Marcus said. "Remember?"
"I remember," Elena said. "I wanted it to say something true, not just her name."
They'd traveled back to the original district together, the place where all of this had started, now slowly rebuilding under careful federal oversight and international attention that showed no signs of fading. The subway station where Marcus had first watched infection spread now stood sealed, a memorial planned for the following spring.
Priya approached from
