A gentle knock rattles the door. My fingers freeze on the buttons of Father Romanus’s clerical shirt.

No. Not now.

He is already completely vulnerable in my hands. I am right here at the stem of the tree of life, ready to finally pluck the forbidden fruit.

But the knocking refuses to stop.

I let out a sharp scoff, crawling away from Father Romanus as the mood shatters.

"Who's there?" Father Romanus calls out, his voice a little too high, a little too panicked.

He scrambles to button his shirt with trembling fingers while I hastily smooth down my wrinkled dress.

"It’s me, Brock," a hoarse voice hollers through the...