Chapter 2:

First Obedience and Touching

The chapel was eerily quiet after Compline. Only the distant roar of the sea against the cliffs kept me company as I locked the heavy oak door with trembling fingers. My white novice habit felt too tight, too warm. All day I had replayed Father Lucian’s deep voice in my head, barely able to focus on prayers or chores. Now I was back, heart hammering, slipping into the penitent’s side of the confessional.

The latticed screen glowed softly from the candle on his side. I could already smell him sandalwood, incense, and something dangerously masculine.

“I’m here, Father Lucian,” I whispered, kneeling.

A low,...