Vasily was nearly a year dead. I was there; I had felt it happen. How then could we still share a connection? I gingerly probed the link and sensed how tenuous it was, scarcely more substantial than fog. Like a ghostly tattered ribbon, the link fluttered slowly, untethered at the distant end. A misstep here and it would evaporate entirely. I gently released it.

The name Escobar was foreign; I knew no such person. The link had been forged from the distant end and was thin but robust. Plucking the thread, I found that Escobar and I shared some connections: Martin, Kseniya, Kozlov… This man, whoever he was, was no friend of mine.

The link to Rosalia was very strong and it was no real surprise to learn that it was Grandmother’s real name. The connection thrummed like high voltage and I sensed that she was urgently trying to get my attention.

I tried to reconnect to my senses but found myself locked out. She was firmly in control of my body and was lashing out. My heart sank at my own stupidity.