Page 76 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Your people don’t know what you’ve done, do they? There were other messages in your phone—from someone asking for a status report. I never saw you mention the gospel.”
“The Entity,” I explain. “Doesn’t matter. The relic will save only one person. I wanted it to be Zeke… but… you have a right to decide.”
Her head hangs. Tears fall from her eyes like diamonds. They blend with my blood, pooling at my side. I should hate her, I suppose. She stabbed me. But I deserved it, and I was dead anyway. It was only a matter of time before Vepar caught up to me. I attract this shit in my life because I’m wrong inside. First, my parents, then my uncle, and somehow Zeke became ill. Shame washes over me.
“I don’t want to be the cause of more welts on your body.”
She jerks like she’s shot. “What?”
“I know what they’re from. They punish you for doing the things they ask of you.”
Thea checks my stab wound, then grimly meets my eyes. “No, Wes. I punish myself.”
Coldness fills me. I knew the flogging marks were her way of atoning for her sins—but I assumed it was part of the penance forced on them. But she hurt herself. Because of what they led her to believe. My face must be full of pity, or something, because she snaps, “Shut up.”
Her confidence and sass wash away as she averts her gaze.
“Thea.” Adrenaline surges in me from the need to protect her… from herself. “You’re incredible. You know that, right? When I first arrived here—” I wince as I shuffle. “I thought you were made from the devil’s own toy bag to tempt me, but now I think God made you. You’re everything this world needs to get better… maybe not the stabbing me part, but…”
I lose the energy to finish.
Her following words come out like there’s a bitter taste in her mouth. “Istabbedyou, Wes.”
“I’m dying anyway.” I shake my head. “I lied to you. If one of us deserves to use that relic, it’s you.”
The Sinner hardness comes over her. Grit. She’s got it in spades. She’s the one—the chosen one. All of them are, and they will do what no one else can.
“You’re not going to die,” she says, catching the look in my eyes. “Suck it up until I get back. Don’t remove the knife, do you understand? Pulling it out will only make it worse.”
I don’t understand. I’m blinking at her like a doe-eyed cow or something, half listening, half thinking about the pain turning numb at my side… half wondering if that’s a good thing or bad.
“Don’t pull it out,” she repeats as she straightens. “I’ll be back in no time.”
I pity the fool who gets in her way. She’s a force. Maybe that’s why I don’t resist when she removes the charm from her neck and places it over mine.
I want to ask where she’s going… if she’ll be back, but it’s not just the numbing sensation at my side, the burn at my palms or the heavy sand filling my bones. There’s a darkness creeping toward me from all around. It’s hidden in the night sky and in the shadows between cracks on the walls. I imagine the scent of the ocean is in the air. Fish. Scales. Disease. Rot.
I imagine this is what happens when death comes for you. I don’t want to reveal my fears, so I keep my face passive.
Thea watches me as she lifts a blood-red scarf to cover her nose and mouth. Next is the black hood. Strapped to her body are daggers, throwing stars, and other metal weapons glimmering in the moonlight. Embroidered on her chest is the Sinner symbol—a red cross.
“Tell me you’re going to suck it up,” she demands. “You’re not as bad as you think.”
“I’ll be fine.”
And then she’s gone—melting into the shadows. Hope remains alive for a few minutes, and then my short-lived adrenaline wanes. I want to believe her, that she knows how to stab without causing permanent damage, that this pain is an overreaction, but she never accounted for the condition I’m already in.
The smell of pestilence is everywhere.
Zeke. I owe him an explanation. I fumble in my pocket but don’t know what to tell him. Instead of my phone, I pull out something hard and round. It’s my uncle’s watch. The cool, smooth surface is calming. I run my trembling thumb over the inscription.
Keep your hands working together. Keep the cracks closed.
I used to pore over those words in the Vatican archives. Sometimes I thought, maybe, he meant my actual bodily hands. But I kept coming back to the watch. To the hour and the minute hand. Different but the same.
It reminds me of the prophecy. There was a line about cracks. What was it?Cracks splitting the brave.And then I think about the exhibition Thea was enthralled with—how she lingered on Lilith’s mark on her shoulder.
I don’t think it was a sign of intended possession. I think Lilith was trying to claim Thea as a soldier in her army.
