Roman…

  She thought. Those fierce eyes, veins popping on his neck, muscles tightening on his face.

  Roman?!

  She jolted realizing she wasn’t dead. She hadn’t hit the ground below. Her brain wasn’t lying splattered on convent stone in the dead of the night. That too outside the Head Nun’s quarters.

  Instead, she was still dangling there on the balcony, wind sweeping through her body, cold chill running up her spine, trembling in fear, certain of the death she was about to meet.

  Her mind raced through the mathematics of it. Three stories above ground, roughly forty feet in height. Falling from here, a possible three-second descent into the darkness. Head first meant sure death. If her body hit first, a life bedridden forever.

  She also had a third option. A hand clutching her wrist, squeezing tight, held her from meeting her end. The hand of the last person who should’ve found her this way. “Let’s not cross paths… again,” he’d said barely a day ago. An option that should have been obvious. But seeing that it was him, perhaps the first option was starting to look more enticing.

  Lucia looked up at Roman, catching the flicker in his eyes before he could hide it. She wasn’t the only one doing calculations.

  For a moment, he seemed to weigh his next action, let her fall or haul her up. Teeth clenched, anger burning, ravaging through his mind. Lucia watched his face flicker through every emotion before he finally locked eyes with her. Those eyes, dark and alarming, just like the siren still blaring outside, pulsing against their eardrums.

  Her eyes began to plead, the mathematics of falling out the window, the human urge to live kicking in. Desperation shone through, he was taking too long. Her arm began to slip, gravity winning.

  Just then Roman tightened his grip. “Hold on.” The words barely escaped him before his cold hand locked, pulling hard. Lucia’s body lifted an inch, then his other hand caught above her elbow and yanked her up with force.

  She scrambled, swiping for footing, finally grabbing at his arms. He pulled one last time before her foot found the ledge. She pushed herself up, only to slip again.

  In a split second, Roman caught her waist and pulled her to him.

  Their eyes met. She held her breath, meeting him too close, his face an inch from hers. For a heartbeat, everything stilled.

  It was the first time she’d seen his eyes this close, dark and haunting, with a speck of hazel and a swirl of purple.

  Purple?

  A gust of cold wind sent her loose hair unraveling, dark strands spilling over them both. For a heartbeat, it was just them on that balcony. Then the chaos returned, sirens piercing, red spotlights jarring their sight, snapping them back to reality.

  Lucia realized her veil was gone. Panic surged.

  “Oh no, my—my veil,” she stammered, voice ghost-like and shivering.

  Roman pulled her fully over the railing. Despite the discomfort, he did not let her go until her feet found solid ground. Then he stepped back, giving her space to breathe.

  “My veil…it—it fell,” Lucia could barely speak. Her throat dry, pulse pounding as she tried to calm her trembling hands and disheveled hair.

  She peeked over the railing. Her thick veil lay lonely on the ground below. For a moment, she froze, realizing if it weren’t for Roman, she’d have met the same fate.

  She accidentally brushed her palms against the railing, pain catching in her throat. She had almost forgotten, her hands were burned from the crime she committed only minutes before.

  She immediately turned to him, finding him pacing, arms crossed, looking away.

  “Brother Roman, thank—thank you.”

  He stopped at once and snapped his head to her.

  “I thought I told you we should not be meeting like this again.”

  Lucia nearly rolled her eyes, still shaking, but he was serious.

  “I just wanted to say thank you for saving—”

  He suddenly strode to her, grabbing her by her elbow, shaking her awake.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “A junior nun in the Head Nun’s quarters at this hour is in clear violation of rules. I can have you sent to the courts for this. The one where you’ll have to answer to the High Priest.”

  Lucia gulped. His lock on her elbow began to ache.

  “I–I promise you I was lost. The alarm—” She began to lie, but his gaze pinned her in place.

  “Lost?” he scoffed. “A nun who’s lived here for over ten years—lost?”

  He jolted her to him, anger rising. “I thought you were the type to wear a nightgown to sleep. Why are you still in shirt and pants? That too with muddied boots?...”

  Lucia faltered, stepping back, but Roman only pulled her closer. His cold grip turned warm as if anger was beginning to radiate from his whole being. He caught her palm, and she winced in pain. His hold softened, but he didn’t let go.

  “...And burnt hands? What were you doing, Sister Lucia? All evidence points to you doing something out of the ordinary for a lowly nun.”

  She could hear herself begin to sob between sirens. Yet somehow, with tears brimming, she retorted. Her voice shook. “And what about you? I am not the only one where I shouldn’t be?”

  It was true. Just like last time at the wine cellar, they were both somewhere they shouldn’t be. But unlike last time, Roman smirked. Then the smirk twisted into a maniacal laugh.

  “Is that a threat?”

  “There’s no reason for a Brother to be in the Head Nun’s quarters at this time of night either.”

  “A potential fire ravaging through the convent wouldn’t count?”

  “Not unless there's a sister to handle it first. I could file a complaint for this.” Lucia squared her shoulders, hiding her hands.

  “And you think they will listen to your complaint? Over a brother of a higher rank?”

  “And you think they’d believe you? The elders of the Faith, when I complain?” she pushed back.

  Roman scoffed in disbelief before jolting her to him once more. “They’re the ones who ordered me to sweep the building, you fool.”

  Lucia bit her tongue. Realizing her mistake. Her blood turning to water. She’d pulled the wrong thread.

  Roman’s smirk deepened, already planning her downfall for spiting him, the one who’d saved her from falling to her own death. She shouldn’t have provoked him. She should have begged for forgiveness. Begged on her knees.

  “So tell me then, the truth, so I can have the full story before I hand you over,” he hissed, eyes narrowing. “Why are you here?”

  Lucia froze. She couldn’t tell him the whole truth. The truth about her deal with V. About how V was out there securing a delivery from the rebellion group. About how Lucia was the one who triggered the convent fire alarm. About how for a moment she thought maybe she’d find Sister Teresa here tonight and how she so desperately wanted that to be the case and ran in here with no plan in mind.

  She took a breath, ready to lie again, when Roman’s face fell and his head snapped to the closed door.

  Footsteps thudded outside Teresa’s quarters, before a voice sounded out.

  “Roman, are you still in here?!” It was Ilya. Back for Roman.

  His head snapped back at Lucia. A whisper followed, “Time’s up.”

  His grip tightened around her elbow before he started dragging her with him to the closed door. She fought back, pulling toward the balcony, but Roman’s grip was strong, too strong, unnervingly strong.

  “No, please,” she sobbed. This was the end. Roman was going to report her. Ilya and Roman serving as witnesses. She was bound to be on trial at the analog courts, then kicked out of the convent. The life she’d built for ten years ruined.

  Roman stopped at the door, pulling her close, her face crashing into his shoulder. His eyes caught hers. For a second, a flicker of something, concern perhaps, passed before he pushed her to the wall by the hinges.

  His hand loosened. She gasped, “Please—” but his cold finger pressed against her lips, silencing her.

  The door swung open.

  “You’re still here?!” Ilya shouted over the siren.

  Roman kept the door half-shut, tucking it tight between him and Lucia, hiding her from Ilya.

  “I thought I heard something,” he said, voice dropping to its usual calm.

  “Heard something? Like what? With this alarm?” Ilya scoffed, stepping in. But Roman caught Ilya’s chest then playfully pushed him back. “I thought you said this was a waste of time?”

  “It is! There’s nothing here. Besides, the elder brothers are asking for you. We can’t be gone for this long.”

  Roman sighed. “Fine. Call it a win then. There was nothing here.”

  Lucia’s pulse pounded against her ear. She couldn’t believe it. Was Roman…covering for her? But why? He had no reason to. Not this time.

  “Alright, let’s get out of here.” Ilya said, clapping his ears as the alarm elevated in intensity.

  Roman pushed Ilya ahead to the corridor.

  And before Lucia could even think, his face appeared, a warning etched in his eyes, before disappearing. The door shut behind him.

  Lucia fell to her knees. Hand clutching her pounding heart as she listened to their footsteps fade.

  What just happened?...Why?

  Her fingers brushed her lips. His touch, cold, so cold as if it had been frozen, still lingering there. Her mind was a cesspool of confusion. She didn’t know what to think. What to do. Her burned hands still ached, deep red coloring them. His tight grip had left its mark, the ache subsiding. But worst of all, she remembered his eyes inches away, that flicker of purple swirling.

  Perhaps a trick of the light. Or perhaps the heat of the moment had altered her mind.

  Yet she couldn’t understand why Roman, who had the perfect reason to hand her over, would ever leave her there, hidden, unharmed. Was he being merciful?

  Lucia shook her head. A darker thought rising.

  Maybe the mathematics of mercy was just as cruel. One life spared, half a truth exposed. Maybe he wanted more. A reason to trap her, to own her obedience.

  But those eyes…

  Her mind dragged her back to that moment. The mathematics of falling, she realized, wasn’t just about height or gravity, it was a science of its own kind.