Everyone waited, breathless, for her to speak, but she remained silent, simply standing beside the coffin once more. Her mother knelt down, pulling her into a hug, and Camila leaned into her, finally allowing herself to cry. It was a soft, quiet weeping, the kind that spoke of acceptance, not despair.

As the morning sun filled the room, plans were quietly made to proceed to the cemetery. The unusual occurrence of the night had changed the tone of the wake, infusing it with a sense of reverence. Julian’s hand, now returned to its original position, seemed a mystery that would remain unsolved, an enigma that was perhaps not meant to be unraveled.