Uncle Cam held her at arm's length, a small smile gracing his lips and eyes crinkled at the corners. "There's a lot we need to discuss. But later." He nodded to the Audi, still in the middle of the street, and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"Right." Zaharah swiped at her tears. "We'll see you guys later." She jogged back over to the Audi and hopped in. It took a moment to compose herself, to stop the residual shock of getting her memory back. Her hands still hadn't stopped shaking, but she hit the console anyway and got them back on their way.

"Are you okay?" Pharah asked. Other questions danced in her eyes and by the way her lips were pressed together, she had a hard time keeping them in.

"I'm fine. Just a little shaken up." She glanced at the GPS to ensure she hadn't missed a turn. Her heart was still racing in her chest and her breathing still shallow, but a warmth filled her chest. And for the first time since last week, she felt safe. Her paranoia melted away into a strange sense of peace that lifted her soul and lightened her body.

Pharah gave a nod. "I'm guessing you got your memory back. So you know more about him, yes?" There was a silent, 'tell me everything' behind her words.

"He's our uncle," Zaharah said as she turned onto the main road. "Well, not by blood. He and my dad went to high school and college together. They were best friends for... forever. I've known him longer than I've known myself. He made my arm." And she flexed her metal fingers around the wheel. "I can't believe I didn't remember."

"It's not your fault. Director Sanders screwed with your head." Pharah turned in her seat to face Zaharah squarely. "So, we can trust him?"

"A hundred and ten percent," she said without missing a beat. "Now that I think about it, I don't remember Uncle Cam mentioning his sister much, if at all. The Director would come to events at the tower sometimes, but that's all I remember of her."

"I still don't know..." Pharah breathed a sigh through her nose. "But if you say we can trust him, then I believe you."

Zaharah smiled. "Thanks, just Pharah."

They made the rest of the ride in silence. When they broke away from the new Andros district, the downtown skyline came into view. The collection of high rises and sky scrapers pierced to heavens, a modern testament to advancement. The old downtown skyline wasn't quite so extravagant, and belied the colonialist history of the Bahamas, but had a strange charm of its own.

Zaharah kept glancing over at Pharah to make sure the DJ was alright. The DJ's expression remained neutral, her attention on the passing scenery. But as they neared the western side of the 700, and the blue line of their GPS guide shortened, the mood in the car grew heavier, colder.

Zaharah drummed her fingers on the wheel as she waited on the stoplight. The mortuary sat on the rise up ahead, its pink circular walls peeking out from behind a stand of palm trees. Interesting how the grounds of funeral homes were always immaculate and green and full of life.

She pulled off the light and up the ramp. The parking lot of Westview was nigh empty, and she grabbed a spot near the entrance. When she lowered the car, Pharah didn't budge, only stared out at the mortuary with her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

A breeze rustled the trees and made their shadows dance over the cars. Above them clouds drifted by, occasionally clipping or covering the sun. It had been a long time since she looked up and appreciated the sky. Hard to, when for the past two years her sky was a ceiling full of lights.

"I'm sorry," Pharah said, her voice small.

Zaharah shook her head. "It's alright. Take all the time you need."

"Thanks. I did." She opened her door. "Let's go."

Zaharah followed her out, across the parking lot, to the glossy glass doors of the mortuary. The wind whipped their hair and dust swirled into small devils around their feet. A blast of air conditioning washed over them as the door slid open, and an android looked up at them with a smile.

"Hello there," he said, in the clipped, clinical way androids speak. "Welcome to Westview, how can I help?"

Pharah opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

The android's smile faltered just a bit. "Do you perhaps have a loved one staying with us?"

She nodded. "I do. His name is Devin. He uh... he should've come in last night."

"Ah. You must be Pharah and Zaharah. Cam called ahead and said you were coming." He gestured to the chairs lined against the wall. They were flanked by tall monstera and backed by stylized lettering of the mortuary's name.

Zaharah's leg shook, and she picked at her chipped nail polish. The last time she'd been a mortuary was at the age of four, when her paternal grandmother died. It had all been a blur, and even now, only bits and pieces of the experience lingered in her memory. At that age, she knew nothing of the complex intricacies of death. The burdens left behind on the living.

Now she knew death intimately. Too intimately.

The click-clack of shoes against tile drew her from her thoughts. A man came from around the corner dressed in slacks and a button-up with a white coat tossed over his arm. His graying black hair was cut close to the scalp and a pair of black-rimmed glasses sat on his prominent nose. "Good morning," he greeted in a smooth baritone. "Pharah and Zaharah, correct?"

Zaharah nodded. "And you are?"

"Helyas Navi, owner of this fine mortuary." He gestured back the way he came. "If you'd come with me, right this way, please. We can get your loved one sorted out."

They followed him into the narrow hall, past shut doors where voices drifted in to an office all the way in the back. The glass doors on its back wall afforded a view of the open garden beyond. The gentleman sat behind an ergonomic desk that wrapped around his form and gestured to the two chairs in front. "Please sit."

They obliged, but Zaharah sensed uneasiness from Pharah. The DJ sat forward in her chair with her body angled away like she wanted to run.

Helyas sighed. "First, allow me to extend my condolences for your loss. I know this must be a very tough time for you, and we'll do our best to ensure your loved one has a proper send-off." He turned his screen to face them.

"When am I going to get to see him?" Pharah asked.

"As soon as we take care of the arrangements." He tapped the screen which displayed the funeral home's packages including burial, garb, coffin, floral arrangements, burial plot, memorial books and more. "As you can see we offer a wide variety of packages and—"

"How much is this... going to cost?" Pharah exchanged a panic look with Zaharah.

The gentleman smiled. "No worries. It's been taken care of. We'll hold the burial after the storm passes if that's alright with you." He gestured back at the screen. "So would you like a metal or a natural wood coffin?"

For a moment, Pharah sat in stunned silence, staring at the screen, or through it. Then she ducked her head and her shoulders shook, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "I'm sorry. I..." She sniffled. "I can't..." And Pharah ran from the office.

Zaharah stared after her for a moment before turning back to the gentleman. "Uhh... excuse us." She gave as polite a smile as she could muster and chased after Pharah. When she got out to receptions, she caught a glimpse of hair as Pharah disappeared through the glass doors.

"Pharah wait." Zaharah chased her out into the balmy wind and caught up to her near the car. "Hey..."

"I can't." Pharah shook her head, tears leaving streaks of mascara down her face. "I can't do this."

She pulled Pharah into a hug and fought her own tears. God knew if it was Jade who'd caught that bullet, Zaharah would've been in worse shape. At least Pharah was on her feet, trying, fighting. "I know. It's alright. We can take a break, go for a ride, and come back. Whatever you want."

"No, I..." Pharah sniffled. "I want to see him. I want to see my brother."

"Okay. We'll go see him." She held Pharah and arm's length and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Come on." And she took the DJ's hand and guided her back to the glass doors of the mortuary where the android receptionist stood.

He greeted them with a single nod but didn't say anything.

"Is it okay if we go to see Devin and handle the arrangements later?" Zaharah asked.

"Of course." He gestured to a path leading between the buildings and guided them to the same open garden they'd seen from the office. They bypassed the hibiscus hedges and stands of yellow elder to walk a corridor lined with doors. He stopped near the last one and gestured for them to go in.

Pharah held Zaharah's hand in a vice grip and her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath before she led the way in. The room was decorated with drapery and floral arrangements, with chairs and a table laden with water, tea and coffee. And at the back was Devin, laid out, with a blanket of sorts covering him from the chest down.

The undertaker had already begun work on him. His hair and beard were freshly trimmed and his skin clean and moisturised. His face was serene, eyes closed, mouth not smiling yet still pleasant. If Zaharah didn't know better, she'd think him asleep, not dead.

Pharah laid a hand on his face, stroked his cheek with her thumb, and tears flowed anew. "I'm so sorry, Devin. I didn't know how much you were hurting." She shook her head. "He lied to me. To us." And she looked at Zaharah. "He didn't want to come here to get clean. He wanted to find our mother."