Sleep was a distant, unwelcome concept. The memory of Krista's lips, pressed against mine in that desperate moment, was a relentless phantom, overshadowing even the unsettling discovery of Father Sinclair's destination. It was just a kiss, I told myself, a logical action to avoid detection. Yet, the raw panic in her eyes, the surprising softness of her mouth, the frantic beat of her heart – they lingered, an unwelcome warmth in my usually cool, ordered mind. It was a chaotic intrusion, a ripple in the perfectly calm surface I maintained.
But beneath the emotional turmoil, my strategic mind was already at work. She had promised to tell me, but her track record with promises was, to put it mildly, inconsistent. And her desperation to investigate that building, even after her close call, screamed of a compulsion beyond mere curiosity. I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, she would attempt to return. And I would be there.
The castle was a tomb of silence by the time I sensed her movement. A faint shift in the air, a whisper of a shadow against the moonlit window. She was out. Just as I had anticipated. I was already waiting, leaning against the ancient oak on the sidewalk, a sentinel in the pre-dawn quiet.
Her eyes widened in genuine surprise when she saw me. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, her voice laced with the adrenaline of her escape.
"I should ask you the same question," I countered, my tone firm, devoid of humor. "Why are you sneaking out? You know it's dangerous."
She stammered, searching for a new lie, but I cut her off. "I thought we're past all the lying. Now I want you to be honest. What are you doing out? If you don't answer, I'll drag you back inside." My gaze was unyielding. This game of cat and mouse had gone on long enough.
Her resolve, once so fiercely guarded, finally cracked. "Fine. I'm going back to that building. I need to know what's inside."
Anger, hot and swift, flared through me. "Are you out of your mind? Do you know how dangerous it is? Why are you so keen on knowing? Why are you so determined to know what that priest was doing there?" The questions tumbled out, betraying the depth of my concern.
"Because I feel like something strange is going on, something bad. I have to know. It's for a friend. Please, just let me go." Her plea was raw, earnest.
A sharp inhale. "Okay. But I'm going with you. No buts." The words were an order, non-negotiable. I wouldn't allow her to face this danger alone, not anymore.
We moved through the quiet city streets, my senses guiding us unerringly back to the decrepit building. The stack of boxes was still there, a silent witness to our earlier, clumsy hideout. The air was still and cold, the building dark and uninviting. We tried the door; still locked.
My eyes scanned the façade, easily spotting the open window on the fourth floor. Her gaze followed mine, a flicker of understanding passing between us. With a swift, practiced movement, I wrapped an arm around her waist, her soft gasp a faint whisper against the night. I launched us upward, effortlessly soaring through the air until we landed silently inside the window.
"Don't do something like that without giving a warning first," she hissed, recovering quickly.
The interior was a labyrinth of darkness and stale air. The floorboards creaked under our cautious steps as we descended the stairs. Voices, indistinct at first, grew clearer as we moved to the third floor – weird grunts, low moaning, and then bursts of coarse laughter. What the heck is this place?
We heard a doorknob turn, heavy footsteps approaching down the corridor. My instincts screamed danger. I pulled her into the nearest room, a darkened alcove, shutting the door just as a group of men passed by, their voices loud and joyful. I pressed a hand gently over her mouth, gesturing for silence.
When the hallway cleared, I removed my hand, pointing towards the interior of the room. She turned slowly, her eyes widening, then her breath hitched in a sharp gasp. My gaze swept over the scene, confirming her horrified realization. Naked bodies, half-dressed figures, the cloying scent of depravity – this was no church annex. This building was a brothel. Disgust, cold and sharp, clawed at my gut.
We barely had time to process the sight when new voices erupted just outside our door. Without a word, I pulled her towards a large cabinet in the corner, forcing us inside. The cramped space, the rapid beat of her heart against my chest, the warmth of her breath on my face – the intimacy was suffocating, yet oddly reassuring in the face of the squalor around us.
Through a sliver in the cabinet door, I watched as three men entered the room, approaching a sleeping figure on the bed. "Professor, it's almost midnight. Your wife might be worrying about you right now," a burly man in boots rumbled. The dim light from the hallway illuminated the professor's face – a man I recognized from the Church's funded school. He groaned, "Ugh. My head hurts."
"How about it? Did you have fun?" the man in boots pressed again.
Then, the damning revelation, delivered with a lazy, satisfied smile: "Yes. If Father Donnie didn't tell me about this place, my life would still be boring."
Father Donnie. The head of the Church's school. The pieces clicked into place, forming a picture far uglier than I had imagined. This wasn't just Father Sinclair's personal failing; it was a deeper rot, a hidden network of corruption extending through the very institutions of the Church.
We remained hidden, silent, until the men left, their loud voices fading into the night. Finally, I pushed the cabinet door open. Krista turned to me, her eyes reflecting the same shock and revulsion I felt. "Let's get out of here," I said, my voice low and tight. We exited the building the same way we came in, escaping the suffocating atmosphere of deceit and depravity.
The ride home was silent, the tension in the car almost suffocating. I parked across the street from her residence, giving her space to process, to breathe. The gravity of what we had witnessed weighed heavily between us.
"So, Father Sinclair goes to a brothel. No big deal. It absolutely isn't a big deal at all," she finally broke the silence, her voice trembling with sarcasm, her hands shaking.
"Why exactly are you so invested on finding something about Father Sinclair?" I pressed, my voice low and steady. I needed the truth now. All of it.
She tried to deflect, offering vague excuses about a "friend" and "not caring about his personal pleasures." But I held her gaze, unwavering. "Then, what is it? What exactly are you looking for?"
She sighed, a weary confession. "I think there's something weird going on at the orphanage and Father Sinclair is the one in charge of the orphanage."
"Something weird? What kind of weird exactly?" My curiosity was sharp, honed by the brothel's implications. This was deeper than petty corruption; it touched the core of institutions meant to protect.
"I don't know yet. That's exactly why I'm investigating." She hesitated, then the true purpose of her mountain trip, the reason for her week-long absence, finally spilled out. "This weekend, go on a trip with me. There's someone I want you to meet. This person is the reason why I think there's something shady going on."
My eyes narrowed, piercing hers. "Okay. But no more lies, alright? Promise me." The words were a demand, a plea. My patience for her secrecy had worn thin.
"I promise. This time I mean it. No more lies." Her conviction felt fragile, but real.
"Okay. Get inside. We still have school tomorrow. Don't think too much about tonight, okay?" I tried to offer some comfort, but my mind was already racing, connecting the dots.
Before she left, she turned back, a new light in her eyes, a dangerous spark of alliance. "I have a favor to ask you though. Since you seem to be better at reconnaissance than me with your strength and agility, I need you to investigate on someone. Let me guess. Father Donnie?"
A faint smile touched my lips. "Yes. Based on what that professor said, it was Father Donnie who told them about that brothel. Father Donnie is the one in charge of the school. So something must be going on in there too. It's just my suspicion, but something feels wrong. That professor teaches at the same school. Plus, Father Donnie and Father Sinclair meet almost every afternoon so there's some kind of connection. Will you do it for me? Please."
Her directness, her appeal to my specific abilities, was disarming. My earlier anger at her secrecy faded, replaced by a surge of grim satisfaction. Finally. She was trusting me. "Okay. As long as this means you won't be sneaking out at night again." My condition was firm. This was too dangerous for her to handle alone. "Are you underestimating me now?" I teased, offering a rare, genuine smile that I knew she found captivating.
"Tch. Alright, alright. You're the best, your highness." She teased back, a faint flush on her cheeks. "Goodnight."
I watched her walk away, her silhouette disappearing into the darkness of the castle grounds. The night's events were a whirlwind—the first kiss, the hidden brothel, the implicated priests, and her stark confession. But above all, there was the promise: No more lies. And a new, formidable task: to uncover the rot within the Church, alongside Krista. This was no longer just her burden. It was ours.