My phone glowed bright in the dusk-drenched cemetery. But the words on its screen filled me with a dark, heavy dread.
FLIGHT 346: NO STATUS.
I reloaded the web page for my boyfriend Zachary’s flight, then forced myself to look away. Calm down, Aura.
But the black-on-white words left an afterimage floating in my vision.
NO STATUS. Blink. NO STATUS. Blink. NO STATUS.
To obliterate the image, I focused on Logan’s headstone beside me. His birth and death dates were etched in granite, seventeen years and one day apart. But the stone would never mark the date and time most important...