Her hands trembled, and Claire squeezed them, trying to ease her worries. “He’ll know something’s wrong. I think I already missed a toll. And last night—“ she swallowed hard ”—I pulled the rope too many times. He’ll notice. He always notices.”
Claire reached out and cradled her face, forcing Mirela to look at her. “Mirela,” she whispered, her thumb brushing the scars on her cheek. “Look at me.”
Mirela hesitated.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Claire said softly. “Whatever happens, whatever we face, we face it together. Do you understand?”
Mirela nodded weakly, her eyes glistening. Claire smiled through her own tears and pressed a kiss to her lips,in front of the cathedral doors and beneath the watchful gaze of gargoyles carved in stone.
“You understand,” Claire murmured when they parted. “And you’re right. We’ll go back, gather what we need, and then find the travelers. I’m sure they’ll take us in until we can leave.”
Mirela nodded quickly, her breath shallow with nerves. “Yes. One more night. Then we go.” She paused, her voice trembling. “You could stay with them tonight while I handle things at the cathedral. It would be safer.”
Claire scoffed and shook her head firmly. “I made myself clear. We are doing this together.”
Mirela’s eyes filled with tears. She laughed softly and pulled Claire close again, kissing her with a mix of fear and hope.
Together, they turned back toward the cathedral.
Mirela closed the large door behind them, the sound harsh and definitive. The great hall was too still and silent.
There was something off about the inside of the cathedral. The air was thick and heavy. The smell of freshly lit candles and oil permeated the nave. The flickering candles along the aisles burned low, except for the ones near the altar. There, every candle was newly lit. Each one was tall and untouched.
Mirela frowned as if the sight before her was wrong. Notre-Dame had always been a living thing. Its candles were constantly replaced by the faithful who came andwent. There were always burnt wicks, dripping wax, signs of prayers whispered and spent. But now, every single flame burned the same height.
Claire’s hand tightened around Mirela’s.
Mirela paled, her entire body tensing as she stared toward the altar. “He’s here,” she whispered, voice trembling. “He’s here. I wasn’t here…I—“
Claire had never seen Mirela like this. Every trace of color drained from her face. Her breath came shallow, her eyes darting wildly through the shadows of the cathedral.
“Mirela,” Claire whispered. “Breathe. Maybe you’re mistaken, maybe—“
But Mirela was already moving, her steps frantic, echoing through the nave.
“Wait—Mirela!” Claire called, hurrying after her.
The atmosphere inside the cathedral felt heavier now, suffocating. The great stone pillars seemed to lean inward, listening. Claire’s heart pounded as she followed Mirela toward the stairway, the sound of their footsteps swallowed by the silence until suddenly, without warning, the bells began to toll.
Mirela froze mid-step.
Her whole body went rigid, her hand clutching the stones on the walls so tightly her knuckles whitened. Claire could see her shaking.
“Mirela!” Claire’s voice cracked as she rushed up the steps,reaching her.
But Mirela didn’t turn. Her eyes were fixed upward, wide and unseeing, her lips parted in a silent prayer. The bells tolled again, louder this time, and the sound rattled in Claire’s bones.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Slowly, Mirela began to move again, her steps hesitant, dragging, as though she were forcing herself to climb. When they reached the landing, Claire saw the door to Mirela’s room hanging slightly ajar, the faint glow of candlelight spilling through the crack.
Mirela stopped dead. Her breathing hitched. Her entire body trembled as if the air itself had turned to ice around her.
“Don’t,” Claire whispered, catching her arm. “Let me.”
Mirela’s head moved in a jerky nod, her eyes locked on the door, but her body too paralyzed to move closer.
