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That gets to Maggie. Her entire posture shifts.

"Protecting you?" she repeats. Lower. More dangerous.

I nod. "The cartel…" I swallow. The word still feels unreal. "They're still after me."

For a second—just a second—I see it. Fear. Real, raw fear flickers in both their eyes. Then it's gone. Replaced with suspicion. Sharp. Calculating. Maggie's gaze cuts back to Gabe. Then to me.

While Kelly observes, "He's not with the police." It's not a question. It's a statement. A problem.

I shake my head. "No."

She looks at me full of suspicion. "Then who the hell is he, Audra?"

I don't answer right away. Because now that she's asking—really asking—I realize something unsettling. I don't actually know. Not really. Not beyond what I've seen. What I've felt. What I've… trusted. The realization should terrify me. It probably does. Somewhere. But right now—with everything else crashing down around me—it doesn't feel like the biggest problem.

I settle on, "He's someone who can keep us alive."

My voice is steadier than I feel. Kelly studies me. Long. Hard. Like she's trying to decide if I've lost my mind. Or worse, if I know exactly what I'm doing. Maybe it's a little of both. Maggie bites her lower lip, and a tear slides down her face.

"Audra… I don't understand. I've always loved you like a daughter," Kelly softens a little.

"I love you too." That's the truth. I do. She's one of the kindest people I know. Just like Pete was.

"But right now, Audra," her gaze hardens again, "you're making it really hard for me to trust and like you."

I nod miserably. "I know."

"We need to talk, Audra," she scolds me like a little child, "and you need to talk to the police too."

I realize that. Just like I realize that I failed her. She needs to hear the truth. She needs to know what happened. She's Pete's mother. Maggie is… was his sister. Pete would be so disappointed in me for adding to their grief. He would have never said it, but I would have felt the disapproval coming off him in waves. The loud clearing of a throat spares me an answer. A priest who has walked up to the front waits until the soft rustling settles into something resembling attention. "Shall we begin?"

Everything that follows is a haze. Voices move around me, soft, measured, distant. Words about love. About loss. About the kind of life that sounds whole when someone else says it out loud. None of it sticks. There are speeches. Tears. A couple of scattered laughs when Tom—Pete's best friend—stands up and, somehow, manages to entertain everyone with a few of their more questionable life choices. Not many, of course. It was… well. Pete.

I don't remember most of it. Just pieces. My name, said gently. A hand at my back. The moment everything inside me gives way. I don't remember what I say when they call me up. Or if I say anything at all. Only that Gabe is suddenly there, solidly at my side, guiding me back down as the tears come too fast, too hard. My breath catches. The room tilts. I can't seem to get enough air.

After that, everything blurs again.

On the way to the graveyard, Tom catches up to me. "Audra—hey. Just… what happened?"

His voice is quieter, now. No jokes. Just something searching. I don't answer.

"Not now," Gabe intervenes, quietly at my side. Never wavering.

The tone in his voice makes Tom hesitate. But he lingers anyway. "I just think someone should?—"

"I said not now."

That does it. Tom backs off, muttering words I don't catch as he falls behind. I keep walking. The gravel crunches under my shoes. The sky feels too big. The air too thin. More words. More silence. The dull, final sound of earth hitting wood. I stand where they tell me to stand. Sit when someone touches my shoulder. Nod when it seems like I should. None of it feels real.

By the time we make it back to the car, I feel hollowed out. There's nothing left inside me to hold me up.

"Mrs. Hale."

The voice cuts straight through everything. I turn. A man steps toward us, wearing a cheap, off-the-rack suit. There is something official in the way he holds himself. "I've been trying to get a hold of you."

Next to me, Gabe goes still. Not tense. Still.

"You have her lawyer's number," he snarls. "Talk to him."