The cathedral glowed with soft candlelight and the hush inside was absolute. Preston Aldridge sat in the front row with a face carved from grief as the choir murmured its last notes. It was the farewell of a father to his only child. A service no parent ever wants to attend. That silence shattered when the heavy doors swung open and a thin boy in dirt stained clothes stumbled inside.
He ran straight down the center aisle. His voice cracked as he shouted, each word trembling with urgency. “Stop the burial. Your daughter is alive.”
A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd. Some guests recoiled, others glared at him as though he had come to interrupt for the sake of chaos. Preston only stared, breath locked in his chest. The boy reached the coffin and dropped to his knees, palms flat on the polished wood.
“My name is Jace Rowley,” he said. His breath was uneven. “I know what happened to Talia. I saw the truth. She is not gone.”
Security moved toward him but Preston lifted a slow hand. “Let him talk.”