He lost his wife eleven months ago. The house still runs her settings. Lights on her schedule. Temperature she preferred. Photos she picked cycling through frames on the wall. He lives inside her routine like a ghost haunting his own home.

A friend offers him something new. Not a memorial. A presence. Her voice. Her mannerisms. Her memory of how he takes his coffee.

He accepts. And for a while, it's the closest thing to peace he's had since she died. But grief doesn't stay where you put it. And neither does she.

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It’s not just a color out of space; it’s the shape of things to come.