Beneath the confession
Beside it, a pool of blood, still sticky.
The older priest crossed himself. “We should tell the bishop.”
I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere. The blood truth, the son returns, and Perpetua’s warning. Everything pointed back to the bishop and whatever crime this monastery had been built to hide.
We carried the rosary back. The bishop received the news with a grave face but little surprise. “Pray for their souls,” he said. “The devil tests us in many ways.”
As the day wore on, suspicion settled over the entire community like a shroud. I saw Safiya Brick in the courtyard interviewing lay workers, her notebook open. Detective Moretti was back, examining the tunnel entrance with a grim expression