The metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils as I stared at Marquess Lucian Fairchild's lifeless body slumped against the church wall. A pool of crimson spread beneath him, staining the sacred floor. I had arrived too late.
"Your Grace," Reed acknowledged, sheathing his weapon as I approached. His face remained impassive, but I detected frustration in his eyes. "He took his own life before we could extract any information."
"So I see." I clenched my jaw, glancing toward Father Michael who lay wounded nearby, attended by Cassian. "What happened?"
Cassian looked up from pressing a cloth against the priest's side. "Fairchild stabbed him when we entered. Then killed himself rather than be captured."
"Did he say anything?" I demanded, kneeling beside Father Michael's prone form.
The priest's face was ashen, his breathing labored. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage.
"He..." Father Michael winced, "...said you'll never find them. That they'll die slowly."
