The Dead Woman’s Last Move

Elliot barely noticed at first.

He was too busy standing tall, one hand resting over his black tie, the other casually wrapped around the wrist of the woman beside him—Vanessa, who leaned in just slightly too close for a funeral. Her perfume was sharp, expensive, and completely out of place among the scent of roses and candle wax.

Then the screen behind the coffin came to life.

Static.

A black frame.

And then—

Naomi.

Alive.