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His apartment looked out over my grave.

The locked second bedroom — I understood now. He'd kept everything from my time at the estate in there. All of it. A decade later, most of it had faded or crumbled at the edges.

What had stopped my breath completely was what sat in the center of the bed: a black lacquered box, set neatly on the pillow.

My ashes.

He had been sleeping beside them. For years.