Chapter 2

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 on a ledge. She still wore her habit, but the veil was gone, dark hair loose around her shoulders. The sight of her hit me harder than it should have.

“Jordan,” she breathed when I stepped into the light. 

“You shouldn’t be down here alone,” I said, closing the distance. My voice echoed too loudly.

“Neither should you.” She looked up at me, those green eyes searching. “But I needed to show you something. After what happened to Perpetua… I think she was trying to tell us the truth.”

She took my hand; her fingers were cold but steady. We moved deeper together, the tunnel narrowing until our shoulders brushed with every step. The weight of earth above us pressed down. I could smell the faint scent of her skin beneath the wool, soap and something warmer, uniquely hers.

We reached a section where the wall had partially collapsed, revealing an older passage sealed with wooden beams. Caterina pointed to faint carvings on the stone, symbols I didn’t recognise, worn by time.

“I found this two weeks ago,” she whispered. “Perpetua caught me here once. She was terrified; she said some truths were buried for a reason. Then last night…” Her voice caught.

I set my lantern down and examined the carvings. They looked like a mix of Latin and something older. One symbol repeated: a circle broken by a cross. “The saint,” I murmured. “She said the saint isn’t a saint,” I murmured.

Caterina nodded. “There are records in the restricted archives. I glimpsed them once. The monastery wasn’t founded on holiness. It was built to hide something. A crime, or a body that should never have been venerated.”

My pulse quickened. I turned to her. In the lantern light, her face was all shadows and fire. “Why are you telling me this? You barely know me.”

“Because I see you, Jordan. The way you listen. The way you look at this place is like you’re searching for the same answers I am. She stepped closer. Our bodies were almost touching. “And because when I’m near you, the doubts feel… bearable.”

The air between us got hot. I reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm despite the chill. She leant into the touch.

“Tell me to stop,” I said quietly.

She didn’t. Instead, she rose on her toes and kissed me.

It wasn’t hesitant like in the cloister. This was deeper, hungrier. Her hands slid under my cassock, fingers pressing against my chest. I backed her against the stone wall, the rough surface catching at her habit. My mouth moved to her neck, tasting salt and the faint trace of incense. She gasped when I nipped at her collarbone, her body arching into mine.

“Jordan…” The way she said it sent heat rushing through me.

I gathered the heavy fabric of her habit, hiking it up her smooth thighs. My hand found bare skin — smooth and trembling. She moaned softly as my fingers traced higher, finding her already wet. I stroked her slowly, savouring every shudder, every quiet sound she tried to stifle. Her head fell back against the stone as I worked her with my fingers, thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She reached down and freed me from my trousers, her grip firm and sure. The feel of her hand on me nearly undid me right there. We moved together in the dim light, urgent and desperate. I lifted her leg around my hip and pushed my dick inside her in one slow thrust. She was tight, slippery, and perfect. A low groan escaped me as I buried myself deep.

We fucked against the ancient wall like sinners in a confessional. Hard and deep. Her nails dug into my shoulders through the cloth. Every single thrust drew a muffled cry from her throat. The lantern light flickered across our joined bodies – her habit bunched around her waist and my cassock open, skin against skin in the cold tunnel.

“More,” she whispered against my ear. “Please.”

Now I thrust into her faster and deeper. The wet sound of our bodies echoed softly. Her body clenched around me as she came, trembling, biting my shoulder to stay quiet. The sensation pulled me over the edge right after her. I spilt inside her with a choked groan, hips stuttering.

We stayed locked together for long moments, breathing hard. I kissed her forehead, her temple, and the corner of her mouth. The danger and wrongness of reality crept back slowly, and the tunnels were pressing in.

Caterina adjusted her habit with shaking hands. Her cheeks were flushed and eyes bright. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Yet we will,” I said. I couldn’t lie to her. Not about this.

She smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “There’s more. Perpetua wasn’t the only one who knew. Sister Agnes has access to the deepest archives. And the bishop…” She hesitated. “I think he’s protecting something bigger than all of us.”

A sound drifted down the tunnel; we heard footsteps, distant but approaching.

We froze; I grabbed the lantern and pulled her behind a fallen beam. The footsteps grew louder. Two figures appeared in the far passage, Sister Agnes and Signore Vittorio. They carried no light, moving with the confidence of people who knew the dark.

"The body must be dealt with before morning prayers,” Agnes was saying, voice low. “She talked too much at the end.”

Vittorio’s reply was smooth and accented. “And the new priest? Brick. He’s asking questions.”

“Let him ask,” Agnes replied. “He may prove useful or disposable.”

They continued past our hiding spot, unaware. Their footsteps faded.

Caterina’s hand tightened in mine. Her face was pale. “They took Perpetua’s body.”

I nodded, jaw tight. Useful or disposable. The words settled cold in my gut.

We waited until the tunnels were silent again, then slipped back towards the stairs. At the entrance to the sacristy, Caterina turned to me one last time.

“Whatever this is, Jordan… I’m not leaving it alone. Not anymore.”

“Neither am I,” I promised.

I watched her disappear up the stairs, then made my way back to my cell. Sleep didn’t come. Instead, I sat at the small desk with a single candle, turning over Perpetua’s words, the carvings, and the sound of Agnes and Vittorio in the dark.

The saint beneath us wasn’t a saint, and something told me the real lies were only beginning.

By the time the bell tolled for Lauds, I had made my decision. I would find the truth – no matter how deep it was buried or how many bodies had to be moved to reach it.

Even if it meant tearing this holy place down brick by brick.