Page 62 of Sinister

The first step is easy. But when I glance down, fear rises like bile.

I swallow hard. Good Lord, help me. I know I haven’t been too earnest in my prayers lately, but just this once, please, just this once. I’m trying to prevent a murder. That must count for something.

I stretch my hands out to the next ledge and lower myself again. Dim lights from the outhouse flicker across the courtyard. The guards’ lanterns barely light my path. Shadows stretch around me, twisting with the wind—strangely comforting, like they’re shielding me.

And then, miraculously, my feet touch the ground.

I blink, startled that I made it without injury, but there’s no time to dwell on it. I bolt across the courtyard, skirting the dog pens and praying they don’t catch my scent. It might be foolish, but I’m running on instinct now.

When I reach the gates—outside the gates—I freeze.

I made it.

And just for a moment, I think maybe fate is on my side tonight.

I’ve been walking for what feels like forever, and I’ve only just reached the town square. The streets are quiet tonight. A few pubs are still open, their windows glowing faintly, but there aren’t many people around. The ones I do pass, I avoid by keeping my head down, slipping by unnoticed.

I know the university lies at the far end of town, but I’ve never ventured that way before. I end up going in circles for a while before I finally find it—and I only recognize it by the sheer grandeur of the place. The building is majestic, its gothic architecture breathtaking, almost otherworldly.

Tall iron-wrought gates, twice my height, line the perimeter—dark and imposing, like sentinels guarding whatever lies within.

I got out of my house, yes. But now what? How am I supposed to scale these fences and get inside? And even if I do, then what? It’s the middle of the night. Would Sin even be there?

I don’t know. I won’t know . . . unless I try.

As I search for a way inside, perhaps a narrow nook or a gap in the fence, the mighty gates suddenly creak open before me, beckoning me in.

A little fearful, but resolute, I step through. The university gardens are just as breathtaking as the grand buildings themselves: meticulously groomed and now bursting with springtime blooms.

The air is sweet and fruity, almost intoxicating. It strikes me as strange that a place so beautiful could be the site of such madness—at least, if my father and the rest of the villagers are to be believed. They all say the same thing: that Sin and his mentor are wrapped up in blasphemous practices.

I walk through the gardens, eyes searching for a door, but the windows are dark. No lights, no signs of life. Perhaps this was a mistake. Maybe I should just leave him a note and go.

I’m just about to do that, slip a message by the door, when I hear something. My heart leaps. I swivel toward the sound, scanning the darkness, but no one’s there. Or is there? I can’t see a soul, and yet . . . someone is breathing.

Close. Too close. I turn again—and gasp.

I stumble back, nearly falling, but strong arms catch me, pulling me upright. Sin.

“Petra,” he says, voice low, a touch surprised. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“I—I must speak with you,” I manage.

“You’ve decided to accept my apology?” he asks, a hopeful note in his voice.

“I . . . We need to talk. But not here. Is there somewhere more private?”

“Of course. Come in.”

He takes my hand and leads me to the main door, opening it with ease. Even in the darkness, I can tell it’s forged from the same heavy iron as the gates. Once we’re inside, the hallway bursts into light. I flinch.

“What—how did you do that?”

“This building runs on electricity,” he replies.

“Electricity?” I echo, stunned. “That’s unusual for a small town.”

He nods. “My mentor is well-connected. He ensured the university had access the moment it became available.”