The walk back from the central station morgue was a blur of harsh fluorescent lighting, muffled voices, and the rhythmic, mocking click of my heels against the floor. I didn't feel the ground beneath my feet. I didn't feel the damp night air when I finally stepped outside, nor the plush leather seat of the car when I sank into it.
Everything had slowed down to a suffocating, agonizing crawl.
I never expected Mara’s death to affect me like this. If someone had asked me a week ago how I would feel if Mara simply ceased to exist, I would have told them I’d throw a party. I would have said the world would finally be a quieter, cleaner place without her toxic grip clawing at everything I held dear. I hated her.
Yet, as the days bled into one another following that horrific night, a profound
