“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice fierce. “We’ll find another way.”
The sexual tension between us crackles in the quiet loft.
I’m hyperaware of every breath he takes, every almost-touch, the way his eyes drop to my mouth before forcing themselves back up.
His lean body radiates heat, and I remember how it felt pressed against mine, how his angelic expressions transform when he’s lost in pleasure.
“Elijah,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I mean it, Charlie. You’re not the problem. You’re the solution. You’re what makes all of this bearable.” His fingers finally make contact, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with excruciating gentleness. “We’re not letting you go.”
The sound of footsteps pounding up the spiral staircase makes us both freeze.
We spring apart just as Adrian and Marcus burst into the choir loft, their faces grim, their bodies radiating tension.
Adrian’s gray eyes find mine immediately, and the look in them makes my stomach drop. “The Bishop has made his decision. He wants to see all four of us together in one hour.”
“Together?” My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Not separately?”
“Together.” Marcus’s jaw clenches. “Which means he knows far more than any of us realized.”
The air in the choir loft goes cold.
We stand frozen, the four of us, knowing that whatever the Bishop is about to say will change everything.
38
ADRIAN
The walk to the Bishop’s temporary office feels like a death march. My cassock swishes against my legs with each step, the familiar sound now feeling like a countdown to our destruction.
Charlie walks beside me, her simple cotton dress clinging to her making her look even younger than her years.
Marcus follows close behind, his tattooed arms rigid at his sides, every muscle coiled with tension.
Elijah brings up the rear, his usual angelic composure already cracking at the edges.
Sister Margaret stands outside the office like a sentinel, her sharp blue eyes tracking our approach with unnerving precision.
Her notebook is already open, pen poised to record everything.
She doesn’t speak, just opens the door and gestures us inside with a thin smile that makes my stomach drop.
The Bishop sits behind the borrowed desk, his steel-gray hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the window.
His deep-set eyes move between the four of us as we file in, cataloging every detail.
The way Charlie positions herself slightly behind me, seeking protection.
How Marcus’s hand flexes at his side like he’s fighting the urge to reach for her. The careful distance Elijah maintains despite the fear written across his face.
“Please, sit.” The Bishop’s voice is measured, almost kind, which somehow makes it worse.
There aren’t enough chairs. Charlie and I take the two facing the desk while Marcus and Elijah stand behind us, their presence both comforting and damning.
I can feel the heat radiating from Charlie’s body beside me, can smell the vanilla and cinnamon scent that’s become as necessary as air.
My hands grip my rosary beads until they cut into my palm, using the pain to ground myself.
