Ava
I pursed my lips as I stared at my reflection, tugging at the fitted black dress to smooth out any wrinkles. The dark fabric clung to my curves, the skirt swishing at my knees as I turned to inspect myself at another angle. On any normal day, I would have felt good about wearing something like this. But not today.
Degas’s funeral was today.
It had been three days since everything had come to a head—three days since Amelia had been caught. Three days since Degas had passed. Three days since my neighbor, Gemma, had been placed under house arrest.
I shuddered as I recalled the moment that Gemma had been brought into the Packhouse in handcuffs.
“I’m so sorry,” Gemma had cried, falling to her knees and pressing her forehead to the floor in front of Chris’s and my feet. “
