“How did she die?” It had been fourteen years, almost, but a lump formed in Ilya’s throat anyway. “An accident,” he said sardonically. He said it because that was what his father had told everyone. It was what Ilya had been told, very sternly, even though he had known it wasn’t true even at the age of twelve. She had an accident, Ilya. You understand, yes? “An accident?” Shane asked. His hand was on Ilya’s arm now, squeezing him through the sleeve of his hooded sweatshirt. “Yes,” Ilya said, with a tight, humorless smile. “She accidentally swallowed a whole bottle of pills. Oops.”
