It was weird, Ginny thought, to attend a funeral for someone she still felt was alive.
The room buzzed softly with the sounds of muffled sobs and whispered condolences, but it all seemed distant, as if filtered through a layer of glass. She stood near the back of the university hall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she took it all in. The space, normally vibrant and filled with energy during science fairs or physics presentations—the things Evie loved most—was transformed into a solemn tribute.
Rows of chairs stretched toward the front, each one occupied by classmates, faculty, and staff who had come to pay their respects. Familiar faces dotted the crowd, their expressions heavy with grief. Some people clutched candles, their flames flickering weakly against the dim lighting. Others huddled together, tissues clutched in trembling hands as they wept openly.
