Tombstone Template Printable Novels & Stories

“That empire’s lasted thirty years, and I’m supposed to believe it’s one whisper away from falling?” I stepped closer. “You don’t need to believe. You just need to tell us where Thorne is.” Silence stretched between us. Then Matteo reached beneath the table and pulled out a battered dossier. He tossed it down in front of me. A red stamp across the front read: DEAD OR DISAVOWED. I flipped it open. Inside were photos—grainy, blurred, taken with long-range lenses. A man with salt-and-pepper hair, long coat, surgical scar above his temple.

I clutched the roses tighter, their thorns pricking through the tissue, a sharp reminder of the present. Reaching the willow, I paused. Shay's tombstone stood there, granite solid and unyielding, his name carved deep: *Shay Harlan*. Below, the epitaph I'd chosen: *Beloved seeker of truth, forever inspiring.* Moss edged the base, and fallen leaves scattered around like confetti from a somber party. I knelt, the ground cool and uneven beneath my knees, and placed the roses at the foot of the stone. "From a memory to a memory," I whispered, arranging them carefully. They looked right there, crimson against the gray, a loving tribute to what we'd had.