Ryan stood outside the church, his hands tucked in his pockets as he stared at the heavy wooden doors. Saying goodbye to his father wasn’t something he was ready for—not yet.

Behind him, Bella barked sharply, her tone higher than usual. He turned toward his car to see the German Shepherd pacing anxiously in the backseat, ears pricked, eyes fixed on the church.

“Bella, down,” Ryan commanded with a hand gesture. The dog hesitated, then obeyed, settling into a crouch but still whining softly. He leaned in and patted her through the window. “Stay.”

Inside the church, Arnold’s casket sat beneath a spray of white lilies. The funeral director had cordoned off the area, citing caution—Arnold’s sudden death had been ruled infectious. Ryan slid into the pew beside his mother, who sat staring at the altar, her face unreadable.

The service passed in a blur of prayers and whispered hymns. But as the final song began, a bark rang through the church like a gunshot.

She burst through the doors before anyone could stop her, bounded down the aisle, and leapt onto the casket. Flowers toppled. Murmurs erupted. Bella barked again and then dropped into her trained alert position—motionless, eyes locked on Ryan.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Open it,” he said, already moving.

The funeral director stammered an objection, but Ryan ignored him. With both hands, he lifted the lid.

The casket was empty.

Chaos erupted.