The memory of that flicker of purple still swirled in her mind as she slipped out of Teresa’s quarters.

  The encounter with Roman just minutes ago still pulsed through her, alive and raw. Why did he let me go? What does he want?

  Her heart pounded against her chest. Fear, confusion, and disbelief that she was still free to roam instead of being dragged by the heel and locked in a cell, clouded her mind.

  Yet Lucia had to move fast. She ran down the stairs, rounded the corner, then checked for anyone outside. The alarm blared louder. Most of the nuns had already evacuated to the Southern building. The courtyard was empty.

  She turned toward the Cathedral spire, lonely beneath the red spotlights shooting skyward. V had caught the delivery just minutes ago. Lucia had watched her disappear into the shadows, but she didn’t know what the rest of the plan was. Where is V now? Did she even make it safely? The thought gnawed at her.

  She sprinted toward the laundry building. Legs still shaky. Three stories. Forty feet. Three seconds to death. The mathematics of falling wouldn't leave her mind, and neither would the memory of Roman's cold grip pulling her back from the edge.

  Outside, she grabbed a nightgown from the laundry line, threw her muddied pants and sweat-drenched shirt into a dirty bin, and shoved her boots under a rack. Barefoot, she ran as she wrestled the gown over herself. It ballooned with trapped wind, but she kept running, soles slapping against cold stone corridors until she reached the South building. Nuns in white nightgowns, looking like a congregation of ghosts, cramming themselves into the hall.

  The siren still pounded in her ears when she reached the crowd, her feet already numb from the cold. She was ready with an excuse, ready to be questioned for being late, but no one even noticed her.

  “I can’t believe it, it’s finally happening!”

  “What a gang of morons!”

  “How can they do this with the Mother Superior here?”

  “Can someone stop these idiots?!”

  Lucia blinked. The entire convent was in uproar, not because of the alarm or the threat of fire, but something else entirely.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, grabbing the shoulder of a passing nun, who startled, then blinked at her in recognition.

  “Oh, there you are,” the nun said, breathless and wide-eyed. “About time, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Lucia’s heart jumped. Had she been caught?

  The nun pointed ahead, but Lucia couldn’t see past the mass of nuns pushing toward a central point. “Wha—what is it?”

  “Your best friend is fighting the convent bully, you idiot!”

  Lucia froze. A moment of processing later, she mumbled. “Clarence?”

  The nun nodded eagerly. “Yes! Sister Clarence is fighting Sister Irene! Can you believe it—”

  Lucia didn’t wait for her to finish. She shoved past the crowd, pushing through waves of gasps and cheers until she broke into the clearing at the center, the eye of the storm.

  Sisters in nightgowns clawed at each other’s hair on the floor. The chaos swelled, a full-blown cheering squad forming around them. And at the center of it all, there they were, Clarence and Irene.

  “Sister Lucia!” cried Sister Gibby, a young nun barely eighteen, eyes red and hair wild. She grabbed Lucia’s arm, trembling. “It’s my fault. Sister Clarence was defending me!”

  Lucia barely heard her over the noise. “What happened—”

  But Irene’s scream cut her off.

  Lucia turned just in time to see Irene yank a handful of hair. Clarence, small but fierce, climbed up Irene’s body and ripped off her veil, cloth and hair tearing free. Irene shoved her off, sending Clarence crashing to the floor.

  “My hair!” Irene shrieked, clutching the veil, clumps of hair still tangled in it.

  Clarence got up, face flushed, and stepped toward her.

  “You asshole!” Irene spat, hand raised, swinging hard. Her slap echoed through the hall like a gunshot.

  Clarence held her cheek, burning red hot, the mark already forming when Irene raised her hand again.

  Slap.

  It wasn’t Irene’s palm that found Clarence’s cheek this time. It was Lucia’s that collided with Irene’s. Equally loud, equally intense.

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  The crowd fell silent.

  The bullied had finally bitten back.

  Irene turned slowly, Lucia’s handprint blooming red across her cheek. For a moment, Lucia felt sick satisfaction.

  “Lucia…” Clarence’s voice trembled.

  Lucia could take Irene’s cruelty, but not toward Clarence. Lucia would never let that happen, even when her burnt palms throbbed, pins and needles stabbing at them, she could never have Irene lay a finger on Clarence without consequence.

  Irene seethed, steam practically rising off her as she grabbed Lucia by the neckline of the flimsy gown, nearly tearing it.

  “You will pay for this, Lucia,” she hissed, spit flying. “You will pay for this!”

  Irene swung her hand up. Lucia braced herself, arms up in cover—

  “ENOUGH!”

  The room stilled.

  Lucia turned to see Sister Claudia in the doorway, nightcoat on, head covered, senior nuns and visiting brothers behind her.

  The Assistant Head Nun’s eyes blazed. Her fists twisted together as if holding herself back from unleashing her fury in front of her distinguished guests.

  A dreadful silence took over. Irene’s hand lowered. Lucia slipped free of her grip. Gibby sobbed quietly. Clarence groaned.

  Brother Ilya broke the silence, rushing forward to help Clarence from falling to her knees. Slowly, the senior nuns began pulling others apart. Slowly, the convent began to contain itself again.

  Lucia’s eyes flicked past Claudia. Roman stood just behind her, gaze anywhere but on Lucia.

  Maybe he’s realized his mistake, she thought. Hope short-lived.

  “I have never, in decades of serving the Faith, seen sisters act like animals!” Claudia’s voice thundered through the hall.

  Her hand shot out, seizing Lucia, the closest, by the arm, shaking her.

  But before she could speak, Clarence stepped forward. “It’s me, Sister Claudia. It’s my fault. Sister Lucia was only defending me from—” she hesitated, then blurted, “from Sister Irene.”

  “Me?!” Irene barked, hands on her hips, shouting over Clarence.

  “Shut up!” Claudia snapped, face reddening more with embarrassment than anger now.

  She pointed at them all. “All of you! You’ll be punished for this insanity!”

  Unease rippled through the room. None of them had ever seen a brawl of the nuns before. They could only imagine what the punishment would be. A day’s worth of kneeling in the courtyard, perhaps? But even that felt too gentle for something of this scale.

  Claudia’s grip tightened on Lucia’s arm as the alarm still shrieked overhead. She turned sharply to Sister Helen. “This fire alarm—has it been confirmed as false already?”

  Lucia froze.

  Sister Helen nodded furiously. “The government agents sent a message saying one of the alarms had tripped, possibly due to dust. They’ll be sending someone over tomorrow to confirm.”

  Lucia’s blood ran cold. Almost as cold as Roman’s touch.

  Tomorrow. The word echoed in her mind like a death sentence. If an agent was coming to the convent to check on it, she was sure they would investigate the gardens entirely. Her mind flashed to her crime and the evidence she had left behind. The charred brazier, the burnt books, the waste she discarded. Would they test the ash? Check for prints?

  She looked up. Roman’s eyes locked with hers for a single heartbeat before flicking away. She was sure he saw it. The fear. The guilt. And if he was smart, he’d have her cornered by morning to be caught by the agent for tampering with government property.

  Claudia exhaled sharply, letting go of Lucia. “If it’s a false alarm, then why is it still screaming in my ear?!”

  It was the first time anyone had seen her lose control. Sister Helen scurried off to fix it. The rest of the convent stood frozen until Claudia barked, “Back to your dorms! All of you!”

  Her finger jabbed toward the remaining few. “But you lot—in my office. Now.”

  Lucia’s stomach dropped. She needed to get back to the gardens, cover her tracks, hide the evidence. Where was V? What was she doing? Where was her sister when she needed her most?

  Clarence caught Lucia’s hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Me?” Lucia blinked. “Are you okay?” She brushed Clarence’s hair back, but her burned palms flushed deep red. Too visible. She quickly shoved them into her pockets, wincing as the fabric pressed against raw skin.

  They watched Irene, a bald spot visible on her head, collected her veil, clumps of hair still attached, and began following Claudia out.

  Clarence smiled faintly. “I can’t believe you slapped her like that.”

  “Well, she deserves it, don’t you think? She slapped you first.”

  Clarence laughed but went quiet when Claudia’s gaze landed on them. They lowered their heads and followed Irene toward the office.

  As they passed the brothers, Clarence leaned close, whispering in Lucia’s ear. “Did something happen?”

  Lucia frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Clarence tilted her chin subtly toward the back, toward Roman and Ilya in deep conversation.

  “Roman,” she said quietly.

  Lucia froze. “Brother Roman?” Of course Clarence noticed, nothing ever escaped her. Lucia was partly surprised she hadn’t figured out V was her blood sister by now.

  “Yes. He’s been staring at you this whole time.” Clarence hissed, making Lucia tug her into silence. Yet Clarence carried on, “At first, I thought the rumor was true.”

  “What rumor?” Lucia retorted.

  Clarence smirked. “That you and Roman—”

  Lucia punched her in the stomach before she could finish. Clarence only grinned wider, so Lucia threw another punch.

  “Calm down,” Clarence whispered, catching her fist midair. “I only thought so for a second before realizing he’s not looking at you with heart eyes.”

  Lucia hesitated. “Then what is it?”

  Clarence’s expression sobered. “He’s looking at you like you’ve got something to hide,” she said quietly. “And he’s going to expose it all.”