It’s 3:13 A.M. in Rome when Buffy gets the call. She’s not sure what time it is in California. She doesn’t ask.
She hangs up the phone, walks the halls of the palazzo. Dawn is sleeping, mouth open, drool pooling on the pillow.
If she weren’t such an insomniac, Buffy would be asleep too. She would have learned the news tomorrow from her answering machine. Would that be better or worse?
Buffy climbs into the bed and wraps her arms around Dawn, cushioning her sobs in her sister’s hair.
Dawn murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
“They’re dead. Angel and Spike are dead.”