The church still smoldered.
Ash floated like dead snow through the shattered cathedral arches. The priest's Bible lay blackened at the altar steps. Beneath the burning rose window, silence stretched like a funeral hymn.
Linda stood alone in the sacristy, blood dried along the hem of her gown.
Letisha's blood.
Alex's.
Her own.
—
The door creaked open.
Marco entered, limping slightly, one sleeve torn, pistol holstered.
“You okay?" he asked.
Linda didn't answer.
He stepped forward. “Alex is alive. Stable. They got the bullet out."
Her hands were steady as she removed the last pin from her scorched veil. “And Letisha?"
“She's not coming back."
Linda nodded. “Good."
Marco hesitated. “You saved him."
“No," she said. “I spared him."
He studied her. “You had the gun. Could've take
