“Again,” Mercer ordered, and Ruth complied with alarming eagerness.Her eyes caught the moonlight with an unnatural gleam, reflecting back not just the sunset but something hungry and ancient that had awakened within her.“Faster this time.Remember what the doctor told you—don’t think, just act.”
Ruth nodded, her movements blurring as she abandoned restraint entirely.The courtyard stones beneath her feet cracked under the force of her pivots.Where once she had been a soul struggling toward redemption, now she was becoming a weapon honed for destruction.
“Sister Ruth,” I called, unable to remain silent any longer.“It’s nearly time for matins.”
She paused only briefly, her gaze sliding over me without recognition before returning to Mercer.“The captain says I’m making progress.The treatments are working.”
“What exactly are these treatments?”I asked, directing the question to Mercer, though I already suspected the answer.Blood-based injections, designed to heighten aggression while dampening the conscience—Gallow’s twisted attempt to create the perfect predator.
“Classified,” Mercer replied, the word a dismissal as sharp as a slammed door.“Rest assured, Miss Bladewell, they’re enhancing natural capabilities, not changing their fundamental nature.”
A lie wrapped in a half-truth—the most dangerous kind.Before I could challenge him further, movement along the abbey’s western cloister caught my attention.Rebecca glided along the ivy-draped corridor.She had always been the most analytical of my charges, weighing every decision with careful precision.Now she moved with the certainty of someone who had calculated the cost and found it acceptable.
Constance followed several paces behind, her eyes downcast, fingers tracing the stone wall as if seeking guidance from the abbey’s ancient memory.Her struggle was etched in every line of her body—the battle between the discipline we had cultivated at the convent and whatever promises Gallow had whispered in her ear.
“Rebecca,” I called, moving to intercept them.“Where are you going?”
She hesitated, a flicker of her former self-recognition crossing her face before it hardened again.“To Dr.Gallow’s clinic.For the next round of my stabilization treatments.”
“Stabilization?”The euphemism tasted bitter on my tongue.“Is that really all you think he’s doing to you?”
“It helps with the hunger,” Constance whispered, not meeting my eyes.“Makes it easier to...to be near the blood without losing control.”
Rebecca’s chin lifted slightly.“We’re soldiers now, Sister Alice.Our purpose has changed.The treatments help us fulfill our new mission.”
“Our mission has not changed,” I replied, reaching for her hand.She withdrew it before I could touch her.“Our circumstances have changed, but our souls must remain on the path.”
“Must they?”Rebecca’s voice held an edge I had never heard before.“Or were our souls lost the moment we became what we are?”
I had no answer that would reach her—not in that moment, with Gallow’s chemicals warping her mind and Mercer’s approval drawing her further from my guidance.They continued past me, Rebecca’s steps quickening as she approached the laboratory door, Constance trailing in her wake like a shadow.
The abbey bell tolled the hour, its cracked voice still managing to call souls to prayer despite the violence that had nearly silenced it.I made my way to the chapel.
Only two figures awaited me inside—Catherine, kneeling in the front pew, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles strained white against her skin, and Desiderius, standing near the altar.
“They’re not coming,” Catherine whispered as I approached.“Thomas tried, but he’s too afraid of what happened during the mission.The hunger was so strong...”
“And the others?”
Desiderius shook his head.“They believe they have found a different path.One that requires less...struggle.”
I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the weight of absence in the chapel.“We who remain will carry their intentions to God.”
I moved to the altar, opening the Bishop’s manual to the page marked with a thin ribbon.The words blurred briefly before my eyes.
“We begin with thanksgiving.”I tried to keep my voice as steady as I could given the circumstances.“Though our bodies crave what we must not have, fill our spirits instead with Your grace.”
Catherine and Desiderius responded with practiced voices, the call and response of the modified liturgy flowing between us like water over stones—reshaping slowly, but with the promise of eventual transformation.I lifted the chalice, its weight familiar in my hands despite the strangeness of our surroundings.
“This is my blood, shed for you,” I recited, the words carrying both literal and spiritual truth in our unique condition.“Drink, and remember that even in darkness, we are not forsaken.”
They approached one by one, accepting the sacred wine with reverence.Catherine’s hands trembled slightly as she took the chalice, but her eyes remained clear, her will stronger than the hunger that assailed her.Desiderius received it with the dignified acceptance of one who had found peace in submission to a higher purpose.
As I spoke the final blessing, a soft voice from the back of the chapel echoed our “Amen.”I turned, startled, to find Lieutenant Dupont kneeling in the rearmost pew, his hands folded in prayer.
How had he entered without my noticing?Even in prayer, my heightened senses should have detected his approach—the rhythm of his heartbeat, the scent of his blood, the subtle sounds of breathing that marked all living humans.Yet there he knelt, as if materialized from the very shadows of the chapel.
“Lieutenant,” I acknowledged.“Do you truly share our faith?”
