A figure emerged from the morning mist. It was dressed entirely in black—a long coat, a scarf wrapped high, and large sunglasses, despite the darkness. The person moved with a strange, hesitant familiarity, knowing exactly where to step to avoid the uneven ground.
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Peter leaned in, his nose almost touching the screen. The figure stopped directly in front of Michael’s grave. They stood frozen for a long moment, head bowed. Then, a gloved hand reached into the coat and pulled out the signature red rose.
“Pause it,” Mary gasped, her voice sounding strangled. “Peter, pause it right now.” Peter hit the spacebar. The image froze just as the figure turned slightly to check their surroundings. A sliver of morning light hit the person’s jawline.
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