Outside, Paris was silent except for the distant river. Claire wrapped her arms around herself and started toward the convent.
Her thoughts were a blur. She shouldn’t have come. She shouldn’t care this much. But God, she did.
Her steps slowed as she reached the darker streets near the gates. That was when she felt footsteps behind her. A shadow following too closely. Close enough to loom over her.
Her pulse quickened. She turned, half-expecting to see Mirela, half-hoping—
But it wasn’t her.
Chapter eight
Mirela
Mirelastaredathermarred arm, right where Claire’s hand had been moments ago. She didn’t leave. She didn’t move.
She quietly listened to the sound of the church doors opening and closing. Her heart raced; her mind fought against the desperate need to turn back and run after her.
Claire had told no lies. She was a captive of Ferron’s mercy. But could she dare admit it? Could she take the chance of losing the only thing she knew as home?
She swallowed hard, brushing the spot where Claire’s warm hand had been, basking in the fading sensation for a moment before turning toward the door, which hadn’tfully closed. It hung ajar. She could hear neither the stillness of the church nor the life outside it.
Her jaw tensed as she narrowed her eyes at the thin strip of streetlight through the opening. Her heart hammered so loudly she could hear it inside her head. Her ears were hot, her fingers trembled. She stood from the pew, her gaze fixed on the doors, on the world she had only ever seen from the tower.
She had memorized those streets over the years. She had watched the bustling markets, the lanterns, the quiet chill of nightfall. And yet, it was all so unknown to her.
All she needed to do was open the doors wider and walk out.
That was it. And yet, fear held her still.
Unmoving, she stared at the doors, her mind screaming at her to climb up, hide away, and forget this foolishness.
And yet she took a step forward. Then another. And another.
Her trembling hands gripped the edge of the door. Her breath came shallow, barely reaching her lungs. The moment she pushed it open, the cold night air struck her face full force. She did not have a second to register that she was outside the cathedral because the instant her foot crossed the threshold, a terrified scream tore through the dark.
She knew that voice too well.
Claire.
Mirela burst through the doors, running down the cathedral steps. Heat surged through her, tingling every part of her body, consuming her as she searched frantically for the sound.
Her legs wobbled as she reached the street, eyes wide, ignoring the startled looks from passersby. Another scream. She turned right, noticing movements of shadows in a dark alley.
She couldn’t yet make them out, but the sound was unmistakably Claire’s voice.
Her legs moved before she could think. She sprinted, the ache in her muscles nothing compared to the fire in her chest. When she reached the alley she saw dark hair, a dirty habit, two men towering over her.
OverherClaire.
Her Claire.
No one would touch her. Not while Mirela still drew breath. Not even Ferron would dare.
Mirela slammed her palms against one man’s back, grabbing his shirt and yanking him off Claire. She let out a raw scream, then spun to grab the other by the shoulder, slamming her fist into his jaw.
Pain shot up her wrist and arm, but she didn’t stop. She kicked the fallen man across the ribs before an arm looped around her neck, pulling her back. She struggled, twisting, until she bit down hard on the arm restrainingher. The man howled and shoved her away but not before landing a punch against her scarred cheek.
For a moment, everything went dark except for the white dots flashing in her vision. She touched her face and felt wetness. Blood.
