I guess I thought it was over. That life would go back to being normal. Well, as normal as it can get when you're corresponding with a not-a-ghost-bright-being person via notes and messages in an ancient, virtually unknown language. But other than that, I know that I took it for granted – something that would always happen, the same way Dad would rush off every five minutes to take a photo, or how Mum would doodle on every scrap of paper she found. And it did go back to normal, for a while. Long enough for me to start thinking, 'Jess, it's the average life for you now. Get used to it.'
But then it stopped.
There had been a few warnings; a few careful words, clues cropping up more often than they had since the Greet two years ago. But it was still sudden. Unexpected. All the messages, all the clues. All the talks with someone who was more a clear, diamond shadow than substance. It all cut off, dead.
Because Epsilon wasn't there anymore.