Amy’s POV
The sky was dull gray, the kind that fit the mood of the day. The sound of the priest’s voice droned softly through the cemetery air, and people stood with their heads bowed, dressed in black.
I held Zayn close, his little hand clutching the edge of my coat. The bandage on my arm ached beneath my sleeve, but the pain was nothing compared to the weight pressing on my chest.
Grace’s coffin sat at the center, surrounded by flowers. Her death still didn’t feel real. One minute, she’d been laughing in the kitchen, helping me with Zayn’s bottle; the next, she was gone—caught in Queen’s madness.
I scanned the crowd absently, forcing myself to keep breathing, to hold my composure. Kael stood beside me, expression grim, hand occasionally brushing mine for comfort.
Then I saw her.
A
