After several minutes—longer than I normally stayed under the water—I shut the shower off and wrapped myself in a towel. I dried quickly, then dressed in my clean underclothes and robe.
When I stepped back into my room, the note felt like it was glowing from inside the drawer, calling my eyes to it.
Cherub.
The word made my stomach flutter in a way it shouldn’t.
I pushed the thought aside and walked through the short hallway to my little kitchen. As always, Sister Dahlia had come in and left before I had a chance to even notice her. Breakfast sat waiting for me on the small wooden table—oatmeal with honey and a small bowl of cut fruit. I sat down heavily, lifted the spoon, and took a bite.
I barely tasted it.
My mind kept drifting—circling around the same impossible question again and again and again.
Should I ask Jace?
Just thinking about it made my chest twist.
If it wasn’t him…
If someone else had sneaked in here…
If someone else had touched me—
The fear was immediate and icy.
But if itwashim, and I confronted him…
Would he be angry? Would he think I was accusing him of something terrible? Would he leave?
My throat tightened painfully at the thought. I couldn’t lose him. Not when he was the only person I’d ever met who seemed to want to knowme, not the Vessel, butme.
I swallowed a spoonful of oatmeal that tasted like paste.
What if talking about it made him pull away? What if talking about it made Father find out?
I set my spoon down, pressing my palms flat against the table to steady myself.
I didn’t want to lose Jace, and I didn’t want him hurt.
I ate mechanically until the bowl was empty, then washed it quickly in the small sink. My hands moved through the familiar motions even as my mind spun.
I still didn’t know what I would say—if I should say anything at all.
Maybe it was better to pretend nothing happened.
Maybe it was safer that way?
I took a deep breath, smoothing the front of my robe, and stepped out of my rooms. The side door closed quietly behind me as I entered the chapel.
Father glanced up from what he was reading at the pulpit, nodding at me in a way of greeting.
I smiled the best I could, hoping it looked normal to him. “Good morning, Father.”
“Come here,” Father told me, not looking very happy. My stomach dropped as I shakily walked over to join him on the dais.He couldn’t already know, could he?
As I met him at the pulpit, he gestured to what he had been looking at when I first came in. My confession log.
I’d given it to him last night, but he hadn’t asked to go over any of it with me; he just took it and left.
