Janine's POV

I stood in front of my closet, staring at the rows of clothes that suddenly felt meaningless.

What did someone wear to bury a brother?

My fingers trailed over the fabrics, stopping at a simple black dress. It wasn’t fancy, wasn’t dramatic, just… appropriate. Marcus would have liked that. He always appreciated simplicity, things that were neat and put together.

I pulled it off the hanger, holding it against myself in the mirror.

It was ridiculous, but part of me wanted to hear his voice one more time, some teasing comment about how I was overthinking this, how I should just wear whatever made me feel comfortable. He...