Lester didn't visit Sloane's grave often. It made him despair too much; everything since her death had felt essentially pointless. But sometimes he felt obligated, like he was drawn to her grave and nothing else would do, and today was one of those days.

It was chilled, but not raining. Lester hunched his shoulders in his coat and walked to Asphodel from Bartonburg; but when he got there, he wasn't the only one at Sloane's grave. He slowed his steps until the girl turned, blushing and aware of his presence. Lester flushed back at her.

She looked familiar. But surely it was just the presence of the grave; she could not be who he wanted her to be. Lester stared at her. "What thoughts?" he asked; he hoped she did not mind his rudeness.