The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-18 15:17:18 -

The Wistful Ashes

The coat was heavy. Wool, dark grey, soaked through. I held it in my hands like a dead bird. It had stopped moving an hour ago. Now it was just fabric. Just weight. "Pack it," I said. Marcus didn’t move. He stood by the window. The rain hit the glass. It sounded like static. Like the old radio used to. "You can't keep it," I said. "It’s evidence. It’s proof." Marcus turned. His face was pale....

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