A woman waited on the other side, hands in the pockets of a gray bomber jacket. First Ronan saw the way she stood. Tense, coiled, a predator. Then he saw her hair: golden. Then her eyes: pretty, blue. Cornflower, sky, baby, indigo, azure, sky. For the second time that night, Ronan found himself looking directly at his dead mother, only this time she was in the flesh. His brain was rejecting it—this doesn’t happen when you’re awake, it’s not what you think—
