Death Bliss
We stand like that for a count of ten, the same ten heartbeats I counted in the Storm Corridor, and then he releases my hand and steps back.
“Goodnight, Serafina.”
“Goodnight, Domenico.”
I open the door to my quarters and step inside. The room is dark, the window streaked with rain, and I do not light the candle again. I stand in the darkness with my palm pressed flat against the door, feeling the wood cool and solid under my hand, and I listen to his footsteps receding down the corridor. He is walking toward the chapel. I know it without seeing him. He is going back to the ledger, back to the page with the authorization code and the surname that matches his own, back to the proof that his b