Miss Parker didn’t die with them. Nothing in the hail of bullets touched her, sending pain throbbing down her spine, or crimson blooming on her shirt. Others died – Sydney, Angelo, Emily, but not her, and not Jarod.

She’s old now – nearly with them – far older than she ever expected to reach. Her life had always seemed like a candle burning at both ends, one too bright to last. It almost feels unfair for the wick to burn so long now, when all other lights were snuffed out.

Miss Parker watches the dawn rise, and waits. Only a few years to wait.