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“I didn’t,” Ryden said, looking at me. He must have come here while he was chasing K.Y. Wolff. “I told the sister that the story is better off not written.”

“Come. I’ll take you to the sister. She’ll be in the chapel around this time.”

Memories came rushing in as we walked through the corridors until we were out of the garden at the back. The chapel was behind the orphanage. I used to love Sunday Mass, until… Robert Miller.

We stopped at the entrance.

I stumbled, my breath catching in my throat.

I could still see Robert kneeling on the floor, praying as though a few holy words could absolve him.

“This is where… you killed that monster,” Ryden whispered in my ear, lacing his fingers with mine. “I talked with Sister Mary Elizabeth last time. Do you know what she told me?” He stared into my eyes as though he could see straight through me, see every thought spinning through my head.

“She told me that the one who killed Robert Miller wasn’t doing the devil’s work. They were doing God’s.”

I bit my lip, walking into the massive space, my fingers clenched around Ryden’s hand. The wind was just as cold as I remembered it had been that night.

The stained-glass windows cast colors across the pews, and the candles were unlit, but…

I shuddered. A scream bubbled up in my throat. I had to smother it.

The world spun.

“Shh, it’s not real,” Ryden said, his words kissing my cheek. “You are here now. Robert Miller is dead. You lived.”

Sister Mary Elizabeth turned around, setting down the candelabras she was polishing.

“Ryden, my child, how are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“I am fine by God’s grace. What brings you here today?”

He turned toward me. “She lived here.”

“You did?” The sister turned to look at me, her smile just as kind as Sister Serena’s had been. I nodded.

“I would love to take a look at my old room.”

“Where did you live?”

“The Carte’s Hall.”

Sadness found home in her eyes. “Carte’s Hall burned years ago. We don’t use that part of the building anymore, but you’re welcome to go take a look if you want.”

“I’d still love to see it.”

“Do you want me to walk you?” she asked, her gaze soft but tired.

“No, thank you,” I replied, shaking my head. I knew the way. The orphanage had changed—there were new buildings scattered about, small cottages tucked here and there—but beneath all of that, it was still the same.

As I approached Carte’s Hall, my steps slowed. A pungent mix of soot, smoke, and rot filled the air.

Destroyed. Like our childhood.

“You okay?”

“Yes. This was my home for five and a half years,” I said, walking along the corridors. The doors were charred, and most rooms didn’t have a door. The walls were cracked and crumbling.