Lucia had been dealing with pricks all morning. Pricks here, pricks there, pricks everywhere. But the biggest prick of them all appeared at noon, jabbing her in the neck then twisting the knife in jest for all to see.

  “I have never in all my years of living as a nun in this very convent, have ever come across such an incompetent person. How could you not have your recruits memorize the analog principles, the commandments of the Faith, the very essence of our souls, by now?” Sister Irene bellowed.

  The midday courtyard, emptied of everyone but the new nuns and their mentors, threw her voice back at them. Wind whipped through, flinging sand into Lucia’s eyes as she kept her head bowed, staring at her boots, willing Irene to tire herself out.

  “Sister Irene, please, Sister Lucia did nothing wrong. We have the training for the Faith’s literature scheduled for tomorrow—” Sister Cathy tried again, poor soul, only to be silenced by Irene’s raised hand.

  “Any nun entering the convent must be well-versed with the literature, Sister Cathy. Perhaps your training schedule must be revised.”

  “But the schedule was approved by Sister Teresa—”

  “Regardless,” Irene talked over Cathy, turning to her side then pointing to Sister Benedict, one of Lucia’s recruits, shivering in her robes, dried tears staining her cheeks. “Sister Benedict here is missing her chord. Proper dress code—complete dress code—must be followed at all times!”

  Lucia bit the insides of her cheeks holding in a sigh.

  Why…why is it always me?

  “…And Sister Benedict is your mentee, is she not, Sister Lucia?”

  Lucia straightened. “I apologize for the lack of detail I have given to my recruits. I will be sure to guide them properly next time.”

  Better to spit it out fast than let Irene invent punishments. Like the time she made a fourteen-year-old wash her laundry for three months for spilling a speck of porridge.

  Lucia watched Irene scan her, head to toe. She felt the ideas brewing in the thick skull of the woman she most hated. Hate was a strong word for Lucia, but with Irene, it came easy.

  While apologetically bowing, she felt a rather strange wave of shame pass through. She had suddenly realized there was someone she did not ever dream would see her belittled like this, witnessing it all in broad daylight.

  From the corner of her eye, Lucia spotted her.

  V stood at the end of the line with her hands clasped behind her back. For once, she blended in—no lazy lean, no eye roll. She stood with the group, in unison. Lucia half expected V to wear a smirk, a rather sarcastic one, eyes squarely on her. Yet V did nothing of that sort. Her eyes were glued to the back of Irene’s head, steam bursting out of her ears as if she was planning when to break the facade, grab an axe, and dive right into attack.

  “Well, I hope there is a next time for you, for your sake,” Irene said, then leaned closer to whisper, “And there will be kitchen duty waiting for you this evening…”

  Lucia’s muscles ached just from the mention of it. This wasn’t the first time Irene’s done this. Evening kitchen duty meant hours of dishes, floors, and trash, the kitchen staff long gone. Any hint of resistance, and Irene would double it.

  Suffering equals pain times resistance. The pain was Irene. And Irene never changed.

  “...And I expect every one of your recruits to know the analog text by heart by tomorrow morning.”

  Gasps erupted. Cathy stepped forward yet it was a different voice that spoke up in defense. An unexpected one.

  “That would be a silly mistake, Sister…”

  Roman stood with Ilya and their recruits at the edge of the courtyard, desert sand coiling briefly around them before the wind carried it off.

  “…The analog scripts are not meant to be memorized, but understood. You will be setting a rather dangerous example for the new devouts of the Faith with such a task.”

  Silence followed, as it did with any of Roman’s declarations thus far.

  And surprisingly, even Irene faltered. Her head bobbing around as if to ask for backing.

  “What we mean,” Ilya said quickly, sliding in front of Roman with a hand to his chest as if to signal to back off, “is that it is perfectly fine to not have all of the text memorized. We within the monastery encourage studying the text rather than memorizing it—But where are my manners,” he reached out at once, “Bother Ilya, at the service of the Faith.”

  And for the first time, Irene seemed caught…by kindness?

  Lucia watched Irene’s mouth twist with ideas or lack thereof. Then eventually the spitfire gave in, grabbing brother Ilya’s hand partly agreeing to a truce.

  A few greetings later Irene strode off with a satisfied answer from Ilya that somehow massaged Lucia’s recruits from having to memorize anything at all.

  Lucia only stepped towards the Brother-mentors in thanks when Roman quickly cut her off.

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  “I was not defending you. I was merely following the ways of the Faith.”

  At least, Ilya was kind enough to comfort Lucia and accept her gratitude.

  ***

  Lucia had barely enough time to breathe before they were moving again.

  The library, wedged between the main entrance and the recruitment halls where V revealed herself just days ago, was a calmer space. Giant carved wooden doors, dimly lit floors, deep reading nooks, candles glowing against curtained daylight gave the room a weight that steadied Lucia’s buzzing mind.

  “This is a…book?” Sister Ophelia, one of Cathy’s recruits, stood frozen. A thick volume in hand, jaw dropped to the floor.

  Cathy and Lucia exchanged a look and laughed.

  “I had the same reaction when I first arrived,” Cathy said. “You're holding something most people will never see—actual bound paper.”

  It wasn’t just the nuns—new brothers crowded around, marveling at the “bundled paper” stored in something called a library.

  “How do you search through it?” One of the brothers asked.

  “With your eyes,” Lucia said, earning a few nervous laughs.

  “An ancient art,” another commented.

  “But why?” one of Ilya’s recruits pressed. “Wouldn’t digital storage be more efficient?”

  A flicker of unease passed between the mentor nuns. Lucia stepped in before it could grow. “Efficiency isn’t always the point. There’s something about the weight, the smell, the touch of pages between skin that grounds us. As an analog faith, it’s fundamental for us to preserve what’s tangible…Sister Teresa says books hold memory differently than screens.”

  A wave of nods passed by.

  “It helps that the convent is one of the only remaining places with a collection this vast,” Ilya said, flashing Lucia a smile.

  Lucia smiled back only to suddenly realize Brother Ilya’s counterpart wasn’t around.

  A cold sweat flared up as her eyes scanned the room full of bustling men and women. She couldn’t spot him nor V. Half listening to Cathy’s ode to the library, she saw a tall figure gliding through the crowd towards the back.

  Her stomach dropped. She cut Cathy off mid-sentence and bolted.

  Roman had stopped precisely three feet from V. His gaze locked on her. V too had stopped on her tracks. A book, manual of some sort, in her hand that quickly hid itself behind her back.

  “What?” V snapped at Roman.

  She made a face to which Roman just remained silent, his eyes unwavering, fixed.

  “Oh yes, the devil herself,” V said as Lucia rushed up, breathless. “What is going on here?” V jabbed a finger toward Roman, dismissing him like he wasn’t right there.

  Lucia couldn't help but notice Roman's gaze methodically cataloging V's face, her posture, her hands. Not with the irritation he'd shown earlier, but with something colder, more calculating.

  “Brother Roman,” Lucia said, stepping partly between them, breaking his stare.

  “I thought you’d already spoken to your mentee, Sister Lucia,” Roman said, his voice stern but his eyes never leaving V's face, “I expected a swift apology.”

  “I—haven't had the chance yet. Sister V, of course, is deeply sorry about the inconvenience she caused this morning.”

  V furrowed her brows, “Inconvenience I caused? Hold on—you’re the asshole that bumped into me this morning.”

  Lucia tried shoving V away before she made the matter worse, but V only stood her ground.

  V and Roman locked eyes for a moment. Something passed between them—a strange ripple of dominance that made Lucia's skin prickle. Roman's hand moved subtly to his pocket, fingers curling around something hidden there. Lucia noticed it, her eyes following the movement.

  Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, his shoulders unnaturally stiff.

  “What was that?” V hissed, frowning.

  Lucia kept her eyes on Roman. “Nothing good,” she murmured, still trying to piece together what she’d just seen.

  ***

  Night fell faster than Lucia wanted. By the time training ended, a message from the kitchen staff was waiting—thank-you’s for an early night off, courtesy of her punishment. Quietly, she exited the library, asking Cathy to take care of her recruits for the night.

  Soon she was elbow-deep in dishwater, scrubbing pans that looked older than the convent walls, scouring floors until her knees ached, wiping every counter until it gleamed. When she finally locked up, her legs throbbed, already feeling the soreness set in.

  The trash came last. She knotted each bag tight and carried them to the waste chute at the back—an open pit in the ground, metal tubing running deep beneath the convent grounds, past the behemoth barrier, into the mega cluster.

  No one knew exactly where it ended. The nuns were told not to ask.

  Lucia had her theories. Perhaps Restor’s humanoids sorted it. Or some other entity. And if the waste ended up inside the cluster, did that mean the Node sifted through their scraps? Knew the life within the convent walls by its waste?

  She stood over the chute, dropping the bags one by one, watching the dark swallow them whole.

  Could someone ever leave the convent this way?—

  A sound broke her thoughts. Instinctively, she hid behind the shadow of the kitchen building. A minute of silence passed. No more noise, no more sound. It then hit her that whatever she heard before was the sound of someone shuffling past, perhaps running past.

  Lucia peered around the corner. The courtyard was empty, the night moonless. She moved between shadows toward the North Wing, eyes skimming the buildings—until a glint caught her high above, on the bell tower.

  The old bronze bell hung still. And there it was again, a sudden flash.

  Her brow knotted.

  An intruder?

  Her mind jumped to that night Sister Teresa stared at her quarters from the courtyard. The same night of the rumored visitor from the outlier regions.

  She should run, fetch help, alert the authorities, and raise the whole convent.

  Instead, her feet were already moving toward the tower, a hot, irrational need to catch whoever might have stirred up Teresa’s trouble. Anger quickened her pace.

  At the base, she slipped off her boots and climbed, bare feet slapping the cold spiral stairs. As she reached the top and her pace slowed, she heard rustling, footsteps, then breathing.

  I should go…get help…

  But curiosity pulled harder. She rounded the last steps and lunged forward with a shout—

  Nothing.

  The bell loomed silent. No one. Not even a shadow in sight.

  Her fists loosened. Her breath slowed. She was about to sigh in relief—

  A hand clamped over her mouth.

  Before she could react, her skull slammed into the wall, the shock rattling down her spine.

  Cold metal kissed the side of her throat, the chill cutting deep.