"Peace."

Jinea was still there waiting for Marco, just as his mother had said. Rays of light danced from behind rolling hills to create a shimmering sea of green; the forest occasionally giving way to farmhouses or fields of wheat.

Marco's family had remained silent when they took in the serene sight from the windows of the carriage. The curtains had been drawn before embarking on the journey, secured together by the coach driver with silky black ribbons. Marco had pulled them open again when the clack of the horses' hooves grew dull; the road underfoot changing from cobblestone to dirt. They had left Laurel Town and entered the countryside, a sight he'd wanted everyone to see. This was the first time his sisters had visited his childhood home; Marco had wanted them to be able to appreciate the beauty of the land as he and his mother had.

"Peace is something we all desire. Peace of heart, peace of mind, peace of body. The way that peace is delivered upon us changes from day to day; from person to person. From the outside, we may not understand. We may desire to question the reason and the means another found their worries stilled, the pain in their hearts taken away. But we cannot question it. We cannot fight it. We can only look on and acknowledge that someday we, too, will be granted such peace."

Marco would be the first. His step didn't falter; his attention didn't stray. Grass bent beneath his dress shoes as he separated from the crowd and came forward. It was five steps, Marco being hyper-aware of each one. He couldn't walk too fast, or too slow. His breaths had to stay even; his shoulders straight. Marco had to be the example.

A handful of dirt was grasped from the pile at Marco's side. His arm was held aloft over the adjacent hole.

'Tap.' 'Tap.' 'Tap.'

Pebbles escaped between his fingers to scatter over wood smoothed with varnish. Marco closed his fist as his hand began to shake.

'Jinae will always be here. Your home will be waiting right here for you whenever you wish to come and see it.'

It's still here, Mom, Marco thought. He opened his hand, allowing the rest of the soil to fall across the coffin's surface. It was a vessel left empty save for a blue dress intricately embroidered with a pattern of vibrant, pink carnations across the collar. It was his mother's favorite, and the dress Samuel had been sure she would want to be buried in had there been enough of a body left for them to do so.

Jinae is still here, Mom, Marco thought, a tear rolling down his cheek. The tear was quickly wiped away. He wanted to keep a straight face for his family and not give them a reason to worry.

It's still here, even though you're not.

It felt like the entire town had come out for the funeral. Rosie had been a neighbor to some, and a friend to all. There were people who slept within the stables of Rosie's barn when they lost their home and had nowhere else to go. They spoke of her charm, her jokes, and the wonderful stew she made from beets they couldn't replicate no matter how hard they tried. Hands that were young, old, weathered, scarred, plump, or even missing fingers all clasped Marco with earnestness. He could feel his mother come through with every embrace. It was a comfort.

There was no mistaking that his father didn't share this comfort. Most of the faces around him were strangers, a handful being considered acquaintances at best. He was generally left alone in the corner of the meeting house, joined on occasion by the elderly Mrs. Fitner as she offered him food and shared stories about Rosie from when she'd been a girl. It came as no surprise when Samuel retired early with Suzy in his arms.

"This is the second wife he's lost, isn't it?"

Marco had turned to see who'd made the comment. No one within the crowd stood out.

Celine had disappeared after the service. She hadn't spoken a word at the funeral, nor that morning. Nor during the entire carriage ride and the dinner that followed the night before. She'd watched the scenes out the carriage window the day prior with the air of someone half asleep. The lack of the smell of alcohol was the only thing convincing Marco she hadn't taken to drinking. When he'd taken her hand during the service, her grip had felt slack and a little cold as if his sister had been replaced with a life-sized doll. That and the vacant look in her eyes was currently leading him to believe Celine had fallen ill.

"Marco, please, go rest."

"It's alright," Marco said, forcing a smile. "I'll help stack the chairs away."

"We need not for any hands, dear," Mrs. Fitner said, taking Marco by the elbow. "Go join your family. We'll make sure to have the food that'll keep packed up for your coach driver by the morn'."

Marco's thanks drifted after Mrs. Fitner as the old woman gave him a peck on the cheek and left Marco on the meeting house threshold. He turned away to look out over the quiet street.

The sun's already beginning to set?

Everything since the service that morning melted together in his mind. He could recall faces, but not a single word he said to them. There'd been plates of food Marco hadn't taken a bite of. Anytime there wasn't an arm around his shoulders or a hand resting in his, Marco had a feeling like that of a leaf swept away in a river. It'd yanked in his gut and made him feel like he was being pushed out of reach.

A floorboard creaked. Marco turned his head with a start. He hadn't noticed Celine ascending the side steps. He smiled in genuine relief to match the gentle expression Celine was showing him in kind.

"I took a walk around this village of yours," Celine said. She took Marco's hand. Her fingers still felt like ice, but at the very least she seemed to be in better spirits.

"I want you to see something I found," Celine said. It didn't take much effort to tug Marco into a walk. He gladly allowed her to take the lead.

The pair strolled through the streets hand-in-hand in a manner Marco imagined would've been commonplace had they grown up together. It was easy to picture a younger version of Celine bending down to wipe a smudge from his cheek or sling his school bag over a shoulder so he wouldn't have to carry it. He figured she would've been the type to scold him for putting his elbows on the table, her own elbows scuffed after getting into a fight with a neighborhood kid who 'looked at her funny.' As many times as Celine said she was a creature of the city, Marco believed she would've been happy growing up in a place like Jinae.

Marco dipped his head under a clump of low branches. They'd passed a few buildings, a short meadow, and were now headed into the forest. He recognized the path they were taking as a goat trail leading into the surrounding hills. The memories were vague, but he believed this particular trail to be one leading to a waterfall a few kilometers in.

We shouldn't leave Dad waiting for too long. But …

Being in Jinae and having his family look upon the places his mother loved was a large part of why Marco insisted on having his mother buried here in the first place. He would be wrong to turn down Celine's offer to share whatever wonders she'd found.

"This way."

They veered to the left. The trail was less defined here, Marco taking care to find his footing among tangles of wild rosebush vines. Patches of mud were avoided by balancing on stones, a downed tree with a trunk wider than Marco was tall circled around to get back on their path. Celine held his hand all the while.

"Here."

It was a small clearing, no larger than the span of Marco's bedroom back in Stohess. At first glance there was nothing special about it. A few seconds of Marco's eyes adjusting to the dim light of the shadows among the trees caused a jolt to run through his body.

"Don't worry," Celine said. "It's dead."

The creature wasn't the largest wild boar Marco had seen, but the animal was nothing to scoff at. It would've loomed over the average sheep dog. The curved tusks protruding from its snout in all likelihood acted as more than enough defense against nearly anything. Nearly anything, aside from the bullet wound between its eyes.

"Celine," Marco said, looking away from the boar. "What is this?"

"This is what I did today," Celine said. She released his hand. Celine took a few steps to reach for something behind one of the trees. A rifle came into view, Celine opening the chamber to check the weapon was still loaded before returning to Marco's side.

"I didn't … think you were much of a hunter," Marco said, unsure of what else to say.

"It's the first time I've done it since survival training in the Cadets," Celine said. She handed the firearm to Marco. It was accepted alongside a puzzled expression.

"Did you … want to take the boar back to town?" Marco asked, looking over Celine's shoulder. "Sorry, but … I don't think just the two of us would be enough to carry it. And … I know that you're alright, Celine, but the boars around here are dangerous. You shouldn't go hunting out here all by yourself."

"Yes, accidents could happen."

Celine stepped between Marco and the boar. Her hands balled into fists at her side.

"If you shot me out here, you could say it was an accident."

Celine's eyes had been averted since the moment they stepped into the forest. Within them now, Marco witnessed something terrifying.

Nothing.

"Celine," Marco said, his voice soft. "What … do you mean?"

"You were aiming for the boar," Celine said, lifting a shaking finger behind her. "You were aiming for the boar that was coming at us. The first shot missed, but you got it on the second try. It wasn't until the boar went down did you notice I'd been hit by a stray bullet. The people here would believe you; no one would think I died by any means other than an accident."

"What's wrong with you?" Marco said. His shoulder knocked against a tree as he took a step back. A flock of sparrows flew from the branches, their shadows passing over Celine's face as a smile twisted her features.

"It should be you, Marco," Celine said. The smile remained as tears began to fall. "There's no sense of justice if I do it myself. And if it was you … I would … I would feel better. Even if you made sure I suffered, I would feel better."

"Celine," Marco said. The rifle in his hands dipped. "Let's talk about this. What's gotten into you?"

"It hurts," Celine said. She gripped at the material of her shirt above her heart. "It's like the pieces of my mind are breaking off and shattering into dust. There's only so much time I feel I can still call myself 'Celine' before there's nothing left. You need to end me before that."

"You can't be serious," Marco said, his voice rising. "This isn't you, Celine. How could you ever believe I'd do something like that?!"

"Because I killed her!"

Celine opened her arms like she'd performed an impressive magic act and was awaiting a reaction. The demented smile finally fell away.

"I'm the one who killed Rosie, Marco. I'm the reason you don't have a mother anymore. All those people … they died because of me."