I sat by the plaza fountain one evening, the neon lights reflecting in the water just as they had on that first night. I took out the photograph Celia had given me.
Luna's smile, alive and vibrant, seemed to glow under the lights.
I had kept my promise. I had remembered her. And in remembering her, I had helped a town remember itself, to confront its past and choose a better future. The promise was not a chain; it had been a key.