The wind whistled through the bare branches of the trees that surrounded the old convent.

Afternoon was turning into night, tingeing the sky with shades of rust and gray. The convent of Santa Dalia slept under a thin mist, and the harsh routine of the cold corridors gave way to an oppressive silence.

Sam Smith dragged a bucket of water across the stones of the cloister, the sound of metal echoing between the columns like a lonely call. His fingers were red from the cold, his body found from the beating his father had given him that morning, and his mind wandered—as it always did—to her. Rose Morgan.

He had seen her before, crossing the courtyard in her dark school uniform, her red hair blowing in the wind. Her eyes... her eyes always seemed to see beyond, as if she saw something no one else dared to look at. Something that made Sam feel small, but also alive.

The end of the afternoon dragged on like an omen. The sky, veiled by thick clouds, cast a bluish shadow over the convent. The breeze that came from the forest brought the damp smell of the earth and the whisper of the ancient trees, as if they kept secrets they no longer wanted to carry.

Sam carried a bundle of firewood in his arms, his rough fingers covered in splinters and dirt. His steps followed the stone path between the convent buildings when a movement in the distance caught his attention. The light figure of a girl — red hair like a newly lit fire — slipped through the bushes and disappeared through the wide-open door of the old chapel, which everyone avoided. His chest tightened.

Sam would recognize Rose Morgan even with his eyes closed. The girl who haunted him in his dreams, in the school hallways and between the lines of the silent routine he led. She shouldn't be there. And he certainly shouldn't follow her. But logic dissolved in seconds, like mist under the sun. He dropped the firewood at the foot of a tree and crossed the ground without thinking, his footsteps silent as if the ground invited him to sin.

The chapel door creaked as he pushed it open, and the sound sounded like a muffled scream between the mold-covered walls and faded symbols. The air in there was colder. Dense. The smell of old incense mixed with mold and rotting wood was almost suffocating. Inside, lit only by a sliver of light escaping through the cracked windows.

Rose had her back to him, sitting on the old altar with her eyes on the dark ceiling. Her red hair shone even in the dim light. Sam walked over and sat down next to her.