“Open it,” Preston said quietly.
He pushed the coffin lid upward. Light spilled inside and Preston leaned over. Expecting stillness. Expecting the awful cold of death. Instead he felt warmth under his fingertips. Warmth where none should remain.
“She is warm,” he whispered. He pressed a finger to her neck. A pulse fluttered there. Faint but certain.
“Bring a doctor. Right now.”
Guests erupted into frantic motion. A physician who had attended the service rushed forward and checked for himself. His eyes flew wide.
“She has a heartbeat. Weak but present. We must get her to a hospital immediately.”
As medics lifted Talia from the coffin and hurried her outside Preston turned toward the boy. Jace appeared ready to be dragged away by guards.
“You are coming with me,” Preston said.
Jace stiffened. “I did not do anything wrong.”
“You came because you care. That is enough.”
They followed the stretcher to the ambulance then on to the hospital. Hours passed. Preston paced the corridor. Jace sat silent with his hands folded tightly together as though trying not to intrude upon the grief of a wealthy man. Finally a doctor in a white coat approached.