Chapter 67

• BRIGID'S POV
• I watched the last handful of dirt fall onto Killian Bryne's coffin and felt absolutely nothing. Death was death. The old man had served probably no purpose in life and now he was gone. Simple as that. I refused to let myself end up the same way—forgotten in a wooden box while people threw dirt on top of me and pretended to care.
• The crowd began moving toward the estate for the traditional gathering. I smoothed my violet coat and followed, keeping my expression appropriately somber. Not because I felt anything, but because appearances mattered. Everything was about appearances.