But Father must have sensed it.
Father sensed everything.
Father wanted something from me.
He wanted something he hadn’t yet named.
And Jace…
Jace wanted something too, though I didn’t know exactly what.
All I knew was that Father was changing. The compound was changing. Something was approaching—something heavy, inevitable.
A storm I wasn’t ready for.
A knock rattled the door separating my rooms and the chapel—three short taps, urgent.
Before I could answer, Brother Paul called out, “Father Malachi requests your presence. There’s been another… meeting… called in the courtyard.”
My pulse jumped. The last one had been enough to leave the entire congregation raw and restless. More than that, it’d leftmeshaken, though I tried to hide it.
I slipped on my shoes and made my way out into the chapel. Brother Paul had already hurried off, as if even being near mefor too long might draw Father’s attention. Everyone had been so skittish lately.
I rushed toward the courtyard, the silence of the compound broken only by the swell of distressed voices.
The entire congregation stood in a loose circle—their expressions were tight with fear, and some were even openly crying. In the center of the courtyard stood Father, his robe catching the weak afternoon light so he appeared almost backlit.
And kneeling at his feet, trembling, was a woman.
My breath caught.
Marin.
She was our school teacher. She was soft-spoken, gentle, and patient, even when the little ones tugged at her robes or interrupted lessons. She braided the girls’ hair during her free time. She carried the toddlers on her hip. I’d seen her make paper birds with them last spring, bright colors fluttering everywhere like a flock taking flight.
Now she knelt with her hands folded behind her back, shaking. Her long blonde hair—always brushed smooth, always tied back with a ribbon the children made for her—hung down her back like a golden curtain.
Father was staring at it.
“God sees all,” he said, voice smooth but wrong—sickly sweet. “Even the sins we think we can hide.”
Several people in the crowd sobbed quietly. Marin’s shoulders hitched, but she didn’t raise her head. She didn’t speak.
Father looked out across the congregation. “Temptation comes in many forms,” he said. “But it is always the same poison.”
A few people nodded frantically.
“Marin has sinned,” Father continued. “She has used her beauty to cloud the minds of men. To draw eyes. To stir lust.”
My chest tightened.Marin?She barely spoke above a whisper. She never even stood near men. Her life revolved around the children of the Covenant.
Father stepped behind her.
“I—Father—please,” she choked out, voice breaking as she dared to look up at him. “I promise, I didn’t—”
“Silence,” he snapped, and she flinched like he’d slapped her. He smiled then. “This is mercy, my Sister.”
He reached into the sleeves of his robe and pulled out a long ceremonial knife.
