Tons of people swarmed around Han like bees to nectar, offering him condolences, praise, words of comfort, and loyalty pledges I've heard before. And he stood there—tall, calm, unmoved, as if mourning didn't touch him the same way it scorched the rest of us. He nodded at them one by one, his expression unreadable, unreadably perfect. Not too cold. Not too vulnerable. Just... Han
I turned my gaze away.
I didn't want to keep staring at a man who looked like he had it all together when I was falling apart inside. I looked toward the edge of the cemetery—and that was when I saw them.
Eric and Anne.
Tucked into a quiet corner like they were in their own goddamn world. Anne's face was soft with laughter, and Eric... he was rubbing her stomach with that look. That warm, stupid, sweet look that only expecting fathers get. My stomach twisted, but not from hunger. From hate. From grief. From everything I've tried to lock away and forget.
Why were they smiling here?
At her funeral?
