"We were both born into the profession," Qebhet remarked. It was no unlikely parallel; the industry had for a long time been concentrated in family funeral homes and many of the morticians Qebhet knew were second-, third- or even fourth-generation. Doubly steeped in tradition. Not so different from her and her father. Death, then as now, tended to run in the family.
The thought came with an ugly sting in the tail, drawing her mind back to her Murphy brothers, one after the other claimed by violence and murder. Ronan, Connor. She'd wanted at least to spare Kaden from that fate, but as usual, she'd been too timid, too cautious... The guilt and dread and worry that had been building in her since Friday evening – since before then, really, since a fortnight ago when she had learned the identity of the body in her care – clenched her stomach with a sudden ferocity.