The following evening the church was supposed to be locked after Compline. The sisters had retired to the dormitory, lanterns dimmed, footsteps faded. Only the night wind moved through the cloister, rattling the latch on the sacristy door.
I slipped through the side entrance anyway.
The door was ajar—just a crack, just enough.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of polished brass, old linen, and the faint sweetness of altar wine. A single candle burned on the credence table, its flame low and restless, throwing unsteady light across the vestments hanging in their tall cupboard, the silver chalice waiting to be polished, the folded corporals stacked like secrets.
Elias was already there.
He stood with his back to me, shoulders broad under the black shirt he hadn’t bothered to butt
