Y/n's hands move automatically, arranging fresh flowers in a vase by the church steps. White lilies and blue hydrangeas—her mother's choice, always. The stone church looms behind her, old and patient, its stained glass catching the light like scattered jewels.

A black SUV rolls past. Tinted windows. Chrome rims catching the sun. Inside, four figures slouch in their seats, scanning the block like it belongs to them.

Behind them, Y/n lifts her head at the sound, catching only a glimpse of black metal and taillights disappearing around the corner.