The suitcase hit nothing.
Raven had simply moved sideways. The suitcase continued its arc and the latches, which had not been secured properly, gave way as it struck the headstone of Alexander Dalton's grave and the case flew open and—
Everything stopped.
The contents of Victor Dalton's mourning attire suitcase spread across the wet grass of his father's cemetery.
Vibrators. The silicone kind, multiple sizes, one still in packaging. Anal beads — a graduated set, the purple ones, well-used. A glass toy, impractical for travel but apparently present anyway. Silk restraints, coiled. A remote-controlled bullet in its charging case.
A compact bottle of lubricant, which had cracked on impact and was slowly leaking into the grass.
Victor stood over his father's grave with his fists up and his face the color of something that has stopped processing input.
The rain fell on everything equally.
Elena stared.
Victor stared at the grass.
Then he raised both fists and 'lunged'.
