Eva Price creeps across the rustling grass of the cemetery, careful not to disturb the silence. There isn't another soul in sight -- but she knows they're there.

Soon, she reaches her destination: a faded gravestone, engraved with her father's name. It's going on fifteen years old down, and the letters on the stone are becoming difficult to read. She has it memorized, though.

She sits down in front of the stone and waits in the moonlight. The white light rests on the stone, illuminating it a grayish-alabaster. Eva sets the bouquet of  white roses on the soft grass in front of it. 

And she waits and waits until she hears a voice.

It is soft and gentle as the midnight breeze, disembodied and calm as the dew fall. She smiles at its words.

"The war is over."