"No," she shakes her head distractedly, "He's dead." Not that dead people haven't told her things before. She walks straight past Wyatt, letting her hand fall from her shoulder, and heads up the bank so that she can search over the treetops for the murmuration of blackbirds that brought her here. The flock—and the buzzing—have mysteriously vanished. "I didn't mean to walk this way," she explains, still searching the sky, "I was following the birds."

Finally, she looks back at him. "The blackbirds. Did you see them?"