Beneath the confession

Jordan's POV I moved through the corridors like a ghost in my own skin. The note from Caterina burned in my pocket as I descended the narrow stairs behind the old sacristy. Two in the morning. The monastery slept, but it never truly rested — the stones themselves seemed to breathe, shifting with faint creaks that followed me down.With a single lantern swinging from my hand, throwing long shadows that danced across the tunnel walls. The air grew colder the deeper I went. These passages ran beneath the entire complex, older than the buildings above. Some said they connected to crypts no one had entered in centuries.My boots scraped softly on the uneven floor. Water dripped somewhere ahead, steady as a heartbeat. I kept one hand on the rough wall for balance. Perpetua’s dying words wouldn’t leave me. “The saint buried beneath this monastery… isn’t a saint.” Who was she protecting? Or what was she afraid of?A faint light appeared around a bend. Caterina waited there, her lantern set o

Caterina's POVMy heart hammered so loudly I was certain Agnes would hear it. Jordan’s hand was warm and steady in mine behind the collapsed pew, but my mind raced. The beams of their flashlights sliced through the dusty air of the abandoned chapel like accusations. One swept inches above our heads, catching on the faded gold of a broken crucifix.“Check the altar,” Agnes ordered, in a low, sharp voice. “They were seen near the east wing earlier.”Signore Vittorio’s smoother tones followed. “The girl is clever. Brick… he’s still an unknown quantity. But if they’re digging where they shouldn’t—”“Quiet,” Agnes snapped.I held my breath; dust tickled my nose from the old wood. Jordan’s thumb traced a slow circle on the back of my hand, a silent reassurance that sent warmth spreading through my chest despite the terror. Minutes stretched, and their footsteps kept moving closer, then retreated. 'Huhhhhhh,' I exhaled in relief. The door creaked shut and silence returned, broken only by the

Agnes POVHey, young priest, I have kept secrets in these stones for forty-three years. Nothing has ever happened here without my knowledge.I watched him from the shadows of the abandoned chapel doorway. He looks young in the lightning flashes, way too young for the weight he is about to carry. Too much like his father.“You and the novice…,” I said again, stepping fully into the ruined chapel. My lantern casts long shadows across the dusty pews and the altar where I know they sinned only hours ago. “I know, and I’ve known for days.”Jordan rises slowly, his face guarded. Good. At least he isn’t a complete fool. He doesn’t flinch, and that surprised me. Most men do when I look at them this way.I have served St. Eudoxia since I was seventeen. I was pretty then. The kind of pretty that drew the wrong kind of attention from priests who should have known better. I learned quickly that holiness is a costume. Beneath it, we are all flesh and hunger and fear.Tonight, the hunger in Jordan

Jordan's POVThe news of Lucia’s body had already spread across the monastery like a second storm.I stood at the edge of the garden cloister as dawn broke gray and miserable, watching Detective Moretti and the two local officers examine the scene under a makeshift tarp. Lucia's body lay half-hidden among the rose bushes, her habit torn, throat opened in that same ritualistic line. The rain had washed most of the blood into the soil, but not all of it. The metallic smell mixed with wet earth and crushed flowers made my stomach turn.Moretti caught my eye across the garden. He gave out a small, unfriendly nod but acknowledged it. He knew I was deeper into this mess than I should be.I couldn’t stop thinking about Agnes’s words in the belltower. It couldn't get off my mind; it kept ringing in my ears and mind. I mean, how was I supposed to be the son of a bloodsucker? Everything felt connected in ways that made my skin crawl.I found Caterina in the infirmary helping Sister Agnes prepar

Caterina's POV I kept expecting Agnes to burst through the door or Vittorio’s smooth voice to cut through the silence. But the night was too quiet, as if the monastery itself were holding its breath.Every creak of the old wood made my heart stutter; I couldn’t sleep. My body still can't get off Jordan’s hands on me in the library. I love the way he tastes, the way he grinds my v*gina, and raising my legs up like the communion; he makes me cum in holy books.It was more than lust now; it was terror and comfort braided together so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart. He was the son of the man who had likely ordered my father’s death. And yet when he touched me, the world felt almost bearable; I could forget anything at the sight of the rising and falling of his banana. It's morning already. I performed my duties like a ghost, tending the garden, copying texts in the scriptorium, and kneeling in chapel with my mind miles underground. Sister Agnes watched me constantly; her eyes followe