I looked at the man across the hearth. I share his name. I share his blood. I looked at the ruin of my family scattered behind us in the snow, and the enormous, terrifying thing he had just set down in front of me like a gift.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.

I am my grandfather’s daughter, I thought. Not his son’s. His.

I picked up my mug.

And I nodded.

THE END.