Katelina woke the next evening to the sound of running water and the smell of soap. The open bathroom door leaked a trail of light, and beyond it she could hear Jorick's voice, soft and low, singing something she didn't recognize.
She climbed out of bed reluctantly, and sifted through the suitcase for something to wear. The beach clothes felt ridiculous now that they were back in the snow. With a sigh she selected a heavy navy pullover and a clean pair of jeans.
The empty camera stared at her accusingly. She'd meant to take a photo of the brightly lit marina and the interior of the plane, but neither had seemed like a good idea. She took two snapshots of the room, carefully avoiding the coffins, and decided to call it a hotel in Munich. Her mother would never know.