I walked toward the office building, but a voice stopped me before I got far.
“Hey.”
I turned.
An older man stood near the maintenance shed, wearing a faded jacket and work gloves. His posture was casual, but his eyes were alert.
He wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t friendly.
He was watchful, like he’d seen grief turn into trouble before.
“You looking for someone?” he asked.
“My father,” I said. “I need to find his grave.”
The man studied me for a moment.
Then he shook his head—once.
“Don’t look,” he said quietly.
My heart sank.
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