"Kakek?" Nu whispered.

"Pak Kiai," Arman had said, his voice low but sharp. "Forty-five minutes for Yasin . Another hour for tahlil . People are tired. Can we… streamline it?"

He chanted until his throat was raw. He chanted until the first call to prayer, the adzan subuh , cut through the dark.

A whisper. Faint. Coming from the direction of the grave.