The snow had stopped falling by morning, but the world didn't feel cleaner. Just quieter — like it was holding its breath.
Rana walked beside Elias, her coat dragging in the frost, her hands tucked deep into sleeves that no longer fit. She hadn't spoken much since they left the house. Only when she slept.
And when she slept, she whispered.
It was Ilik who first noticed.
"She hums," he said that night, eyes half-closed beside the dwindling fire. "A song I know. From long ago."
Elias frowned. "She said her mother sang it."
Ilik shook his head. "No… not that song. That song was on the radio. Before everything fell."
"You're mistaken."
"I'm not. It played every night at 7 p.m. Back when broadcasts still meant something. Right before the station shut down. It was the last thing they played. A lullaby."
Elias looked over at Rana, curled in the corner with one eye barely open. Listening. Always listening.
"What kind of lullaby?" he asked.
"I don't know the words. Just the melody. Slow. Like someone trying to keep the dead from waking."
That night, Elias stood outside the chapel, eyes on the sky. No stars. No moon. Just clouds — thick, low, and bruised.
Inside, Rana stirred. Then hummed again.
Elias stepped closer to the door and listened. He didn't recognize the song. But something about it felt familiar, like a scar you'd forgotten until someone pressed their thumb into it.
The wind picked up.
Snow rattled across the stone.
And beneath it all… the song continued.
Faint.
Off-key.
A child's voice carrying a tune meant for the dead.