登入Caterina's POV After my conversation with Agnes, a strange, suspended quiet. What she said about my father followed me through every corridor and every assigned task. I asked certain questions to myself; I had spent years imagining the faceless people who had taken him from us. Now one of them had stood in front of me in the morning mist and spoken of him with something that almost resembled regret. It did not absolve her; it only made the history between us more tangled and more human.During the early afternoon of the day, I went to the herb garden, cutting stems of lavender and rosemary with careful, repetitive motions.The scent rose around me, clean and sharp, a temporary relief from the heavier atmosphere of the buildings. From time to time I glanced towards the windows of the main cloister. More figures moved past them than usual. The monastery was unsettled. People felt the shift even if they did not yet understand its source.Jordan found me near the far wall where the ivy
Caterina's POV After returning from the Heart, I awoke with the taste of stone dust in my mouth and the weight of what we'd seen pressing against my ribs. My cell felt smaller than normal. The narrow bed, the simple crucifix, the single window that looked out onto the inner cloister—all of it seemed temporary now, as if the entire surface of St. Eudoxia could fall at any time and disclose the machinery beneath.I dressed up quickly with care, my fingers steady by sheer might. Every sound in the passage outside caused me to pause. Footsteps,the gentle clink of a rosary, and the monastery,had always been a place of cautious silence, but today the silence felt pointed and directed.At morning prayers I kept my eyes lowered. And of course, innocent Jordan was across the chapel, his face composed in the way only someone trained to hide turmoil could manage; you wouldn't even know he stuffs his dick in me and forgets it until it's dripping. Our gazes met once, briefly, during the reading.
Agnes POV The candle had burned out already, but I remained in the belltower; the darkness was a familiar companion. Memory is a stubborn thing in a place like this. It rises unbidden when the present grows too sharp.Caterina’s father. Thomas Vale.I first met him in the autumn of 2004. He arrived as a visiting scholar-priest, assigned to help catalog the older sections of the main library. He was tall and thin, with the same green eyes his daughter would later carry, and a quiet intensity that made the other clergy uneasy. He asked questions the way a man does when he has already begun to suspect the answers.I was instructed to watch him. Augustus—still stronger then, still certain—had sensed the danger early. Vale had a reputation for thoroughness. He did not accept incomplete records. He noticed gaps. He noticed the way certain volumes were always checked out to the same senior names and never returned to the open shelves.For weeks I observed him from a distance. He worked late
Sister Agnes POV I stand alone in the upper cloister now, listening to the monastery settle after the night’s disruption. Lanterns have been lit in more corridors than usual. The younger priests move with uneasy purpose. Vittorio is somewhere below, securing what he can. The bishop — Augustus — remains in his study, as he has for most of these last weeks, waiting for the end he can no longer delay.I've always understood the weight of silence, but tonight, it presses harder on my soul. The tunnels still contain a faint echo of the struggle: Jordan's defiant voice, the girl's sharp determination, and the journalist slipping away with her camera. They had reached the Heart. Of course, they did. I had almost hoped they wouldn't, but I knew better. Bloodlines and vengeance make stubborn seekers.I walk the length of the colonnade, my old joints complaining with every step. Forty-three years in this place. I came as a girl who still believed in the clean lines between sin and grace. I lea
Jordan's POV I returned to the heart the following night, though the decision was not made lightly. After the confrontation and my father’s confessions, every instinct warned me to stay above ground, to plan more carefully, and to protect Caterina and Safiya from further risk. Yet the chamber itself pulled at me. Something in those carved walls and sealed chests still felt unfinished, as if the true weight of the place had only been hinted at.Caterina insisted on coming with me. We moved through the tunnels in near silence, our lanterns kept low, with every footstep measured. The side passages we had used during our escape were still clear. No new barriers and waiting guards. Either Agnes and Vittorio had not yet fully secured the lower levels, or they wanted us to return.The circular chamber looked different in the quieter light of our single lantern. The massive stone structure at its centre, the altar-tomb of the false saint, dominated the space. The broken circle symbols seem
Jordan's POV Since the last visit to the heart chamber, I couldn't sleep. The confrontation still pulsed in my blood, as did the struggle, the flight through the tunnels, and Caterina’s body pressed against mine for one brief moment of safety in the garden. My mind can't get over her. At this point, I don't even know if I’m in love with her or her sweet creamy pussy. But deeper than the adrenaline was a growing certainty: my father’s role in all of the events ran farther and darker than he had admitted.I waited until the monastery settled into its uneasy pre-dawn quiet, and then I made my way to his private study. The door was unlocked. He sat in his usual chair by the dying fire, a glass of wine untouched besides him. The lines on his face looked deeper in the low light. When he saw me, he did not seem surprised.“You found the heart," he said. It was not a question.I closed the door and stood facing him. “I found more than that. “The records, the vials, the proof that Lucian was







