Footprints

The snow began to fall just as the service ended, as if nature itself wanted to mark the end of the proceedings.

He watched until all but one were gone. Of course, she was the one who stayed. He broke from the treeline, his steps marring the coating of snow. She did not stir as he approached, but he could tell she knew he was there.

“I am sorry for your loss. Your grandfather was very loved.” The tracks leading from the grave bore witness to the great number that would miss him.

She scoffed, “None of them really knew him,” as she finally turned to face him. There was great sadness in her eyes, but he could tell she had not cried.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “I have a reception to attend, and then this whole miserable affair can be done with.”

“You know it will never really be over. Not for you. You must have known you would have to step into his shoes. There is no one better.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope, holding it out expectantly.

She sighed, but took it.

“Who is the target?”

“A brutal drug lord.”

“Fine, but they will have to wait until after the reception. I will take a drug lord any day over Aunt Claudia complaining that I was not there to eat her terrible fruitcake.”

Two sets of footsteps trailed from the grave, the only evidence that he was ever there.