The cathedral had emptied, but the weight of its silence lingered.
The funeral was over, the hymns sung, the banners folded, yet the memory of it clung like incense in the air.
The hall adjoining the nave had been prepared for the mourners.
Tables stretched the length of the chamber, draped in black and white cloth, laden with wine, bread, and meat for the guests.
Yet the food remained untouched by most, the company subdued.
Bruno stood at the center of it all.
Normally, at such gatherings, a glass would already be in his hand, a quiet refuge, a mask to dull the endless procession of condolences and polite words.
But tonight, he was stone-cold sober. His face was still, his expression carved in iron.
Only his eyes betrayed the weight pressing on him, a weariness that no uniform, no honor, no title could conceal.
At his side, Heidi bore the burden with grace.
