May We Never Meet Again
His eyes locked onto Caleb, wide and unblinking, searching desperately for any sign of a lie.
“No…” His voice came out cracked, hollow. “No, that’s not true. She can’t be dead. She can’t!”
Caleb's face remained firm, untouched by Nathan’s denial. Slowly, he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers once.
Two men dressed in black suits stepped forward from the entrance.
Their movements were slow, deliberate, as though each step carried meaning. Their heads were bowed, their expressions solemn.
In their hands, they carried a small polished urn, brass-colored, its surface engraved with intricate patterns that looked ancient and sacred. The lid was sealed tightly.