Without waiting for his response, I looked down at Marcus, who was sitting near Alma. “Watch her,” I commanded, my voice deadpan and authoritative. Before anyone could stop me, I pushed past the altar and slammed through the heavy wooden door Lucia had vanished through.
The hallway was dimly lit, lined with portraits of old bishops. At the far end, a door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of white silk trapped in the frame.
I pushed the door open.
Lucia was standing by a stained-glass window, ripping the veil from her hair with trembling, frantic movements. Pins scattered on the floor. She was hyperventilating, her chest heaving violently.
“Why?” I demanded, the word echoing off the stone walls.
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