THE sky was a misty grey, its clouds layered like velvet curtains drawn over the sun. The air hung heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the distance and the echo of shoes crunching on gravel. A sleek black sedan pulled up quietly at the side of a quiet road, near the entrance of Rosefield Memorial Cemetery.

The back door opened.

Oswald stepped out first, dressed in a clean, fitted black suit with a subtle satin sheen. His dark hair was neatly styled, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, though the set of his jaw already betrayed the storm beneath. His presence was...