Sighing, I do as she expects. We carve our way across the hard-packed sand and up the three short steps. The doors swing open.
And hundreds of blank faces turn to look at me.
No one makes a single noise. Just the rustle of fabric and quiet breathing.
Do they envy me? Do they hate me? Am I a princess or a pariah? It’s impossible to tell. Nothing on the Sanctuary is ever what it seems to be.
I scan the crowd for my son, but I still don’t see him. I try to swallow down the tide of bile that rises in my throat every time I look for Theo without success. A month here and I still haven’t gotten used to the separation.
My father stands from his seat in the rearmost pew. No one else has moved. He stalks over, rips my hand from my mother’s elbow, and plops it on his own. Then we start the stri
