"Hello again, Lucy," Sister Evelyn says as we emerge from the tunnel into the candlelit chapel via a trapdoor in the stone floor. Her face is creased with concern, each line and deep wrinkle thrown into crisp contrast in the light from Michael’s torch.
It takes me a moment to figure out exactly where we are - we’ve emerged from behind the altar, and everything looks different at night.
“Michael,” she says, acknowledging him with a quick bow of her head.“Thank you for placing your trust in us. We’ll keep her safe, whatever the cost.”
“We know you will,” Michael says.
“Let me see it, child,” Sister Evelyn turns her attention back to me. She gestures towards me, and when I don’t react, she taps her right-hand wrist pointedly.
She wants to see the scar. The kiss, or whatever it is.
So I
