Somewhere in New York, there's a particularly flattened area that used to be skyscrapers and is now rubble.

In the centre is a massive boulder, ten feet high and easily four wide, standing firmly planted amid the wreckage with the word RENEE gouged by unknown claws into one rough face.

Lucy hasn't visited her sister's grave in a long time. Partly she was busy. Partly there were people. Partly... she doesn't know.

She's there now, sitting barefoot in a charcoal grey dress atop the gravestone, chin resting on arms resting on knees.

There's a bag of apples on the stone beside her, looking as though it threatens to roll off at any moment.