Time had become her ally. Every day, Ostina refined her plan,
adjusting for the schedules of nuns, the habits of children,
and the movements of Father Benedict himself.
She had begun setting small "tests" in her hidden spaces:
candles arranged to signal,
ropes to trigger subtle obstacles, and vials to release smoke or smell if someone entered.
The nuns' increasing vigilance worked to her benefit.
Their inspections caused predictable panic and disorder. Ostina watched, cataloging every movement, every reaction.
She was learning not just the building—but the people inside it, their weaknesses and predictable routines.
Mara had begun to mimic her carefully measured actions, though unaware of the full scale.
Ostina allowed it, guiding her like a shadowed apprentice.
Every step, every thread, every candle was part of an invisible clockwork that only Ostina could operate.
Soon, the time for subtlety would end, and the orphanage itself would be the stage for her escape.