A prison is a dreadful place for both the guilty and the innocent. You are repulsed by its cold, oppressive walls. Innocent yet humiliated by the label of “witch,” you cling to a fragile hope as you look to Father Ion.

— I will try to think of something.

He says, his voice measured but firm.

— But remember, only God knows everything about you. You might deceive me, but never Him.