The ceremony was arranged the next morning. Amara’s family hadn’t even been told. Helen said it was “for the best.”

And then, in that cold, echoing room, as the coffin began to move toward the flames — Amara’s belly stirred.

Once. Twice.

Etha’s scream split the air. He sprinted forward, shoving aside the attendants, wrenching open the lid. And there she was — pale, but breathing.

“She’s alive!” he shouted. “She’s alive!”’