A week had passed since the battle, but grief still clung to both cities. Caitlyn sat at her desk, going through the blueprints she had inherited from her mother, searching for any sign—any hope—that Jinx might have survived.

A soft hum broke her focus. She smiled faintly, standing to follow the sound.

In the living room, Vi sat on the edge of the coffee table, a glass of whiskey in hand, her gaze fixed on the flickering fire. Caitlyn quietly joined her, sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch, offering her a smile.

“Is that singing?”