The cold of the concrete came right through the soles of my shoes.

I stood perfectly still in the dim yellow light, listening to the low murmur of voices behind the kitchen wall.

Frost covered the inside of the garage windows, thick and pale in the dark morning air.

The cardboard box sat on the wooden workbench by the garden tools.

I shifted my stance against the cold door frame and drew a slow breath through my nose.

My right thumb ran over David’s brass wristband on my left wrist, feeling the raised serial numbers engraved on its underside.