“Was it raining?” Silence. On the landing, still watching, his dolly hugged herself and frowned. “Yes,” Azrael said softly. “It rained.” “It should rain on bad days.” Lan looked down at her dress and wrung out the other sleeve. “The day my mother died, it was sunny. Warm. Like, just the nicest day, you know? It didn’t feel real, any of it. But it’s rained every night since you and I…since I started sleeping alone.” Lan scuffed a toe through the wettest part of the puddle she’d made, smearing it into streaks. “Would you call that an omen?” He came a step closer, then moved away. “I call it
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