Erador flinched as he stepped into the busy streets brightened from the morning sun. People moved in and out of businesses. The smells of food wafted through the space. His stomach ached, but they had no money. Erador tugged on his sleeve to make sure it was down and noticed Dethil doing the same. They had a higher chance of being noticed if they stayed longer.

  Erador took a few steps and stopped when Miraline hadn’t budged. She stared down the street, but he couldn’t find what she was looking at.

  He touched her shoulder. “Miraline.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “We shouldn't be here,” Dethil said, ducking his head and scratching it longer than he should have.

  “What I wanted to show you is this way,” Miraline said.

  She walked past several buildings before turning onto another street. Urging Dethil ahead, Erador followed and tried to look normal in the crowd. But he was afraid people already knew who they were. Dethil didn't help. He kept stepping on Erador’s heels.

  “Stop it,” Erador whispered. “Walk normally.”

  Dethil listened, but he fidgeted with his sleeve where his mark was, making Erador want to check that his was still down. He wished he wasn’t tall for once. The civilian’s attire wasn’t much different than their own at least, men had buttoned down shirts or tunics and slacks and woman wore dresses or skirts at the ankles.

  Miraline blended easier with her smaller than average height, as she wove through the people. She entered a white building. A bell jingled on the door and Erador grabbed it before it closed, interrupting the flowing sound. He let Dethil into the small room with a few chairs against the wall. Erador tried to ease the door into the lock, but it got stuck and he jerked it shut causing it to slam.

  The loud jingle caught the attention of a woman in white at a desk. She wasn’t irritated by the noise, as if she was used to it. As Miraline approached, the woman set down a paper and brushed aside a strand of white hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail.

  “What can I do for you?” the woman said.

  “Is Martin Maris here?” Miraline said.

  “Why, yes and you are?”

  Miraline leaned forward whispering. Erador could only gauge the woman’s expression. Her eyes widened, and when she focused on Miraline her lips dipped.

  The woman got up and opened a door behind the desk. “Please, right this way.”

  Miraline stepped inside and stopped in the hall looking to Erador. “Can they come to?” She turned to the woman. “Is that all right?”

  The woman nodded. Erador went past her and stepped into the corridor filled with dozens of doors. She led them down the musty hall; a familiar scent Erador couldn’t place. A door was every few paces, as if the rooms were the size of large closets. Erador glimpsed in a room. An old, frail person laid in a bed, reminding him of his father.

  He realized where they were from the familiar smell, to the old patients, and women dressed in white. This was where the old went to die.

  The woman opened a door and let them inside. Like the other rooms there was one bed, a bedside table, and a chair. In the furthest part of the room, a person with grayish, brown hair sat in a wheelchair by the window with their back facing them.

  “He hardly gets visitors, so I’m sure he’ll be pleased,” the woman said.

  After the woman shut the door. Miraline’s demeanor shifted. Her body went stiff and her lips trembled.

  “They say he can hear us,” Miraline said, wiping her face.

  “Who?” Erador said.

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  “My father,” she said in a breaking pitch.

  The father who poisoned her with crystals. Who ruined her life. Her father hadn’t moved as if he were dead in that wheelchair.

  “Is he alive?” Dethil said.

  “Yes, but he can’t move.”

  “Can he understand us?” Erador said.

  Miraline’s lips lifted into a bittersweet smile. “I like to think he does. I hope he’s suffering inside his body.”

  Dethil took a step forward. “What happened to him?”

  Miraline swallowed and looked back, tears in her eyes. “Lord Judgment almost killed him.”

  Dethil cocked his head at Erador in question, but he only raised his shoulders. His father never killed, and now he knew why—his Geisa. Would it take his life if he killed someone? There had to be another explanation for Martin, but Erador couldn't feel sorry for this man. His chest was hollow but he had relief seeing Miraline’s spirits lift after coming here. Her father caused her suffering she would have to cope with the rest of her life, but he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  “What happened between my father and yours?” Erador said.

  “The Coven of Rebirth claims my father was attacked unprovoked,” Miraline said.

  “He’s a witch?” Dethil whispered low as if afraid they would be in trouble.

  “Yes,” Miraline said it with disgust. “He was once a respected, high priest.”

  Erador crossed his arms and stared down the back of Miraline’s head. “So… this is why you didn’t tell me your past? You’re a witch’s daughter.”

  “She’s more than that.” Dethil laughed hysterically in disbelief. “She’s the fucking daughter of a high priest.”

  Miraline’s jaw stiffened. “I’m not a proud daughter, if that’s what you think.”

  Before Dethil could open his mouth, Erador answered, “He abused her.”

  “Looks like you got something in common,” Dethil said, not mocking but it still sent a prickle of irritation up Erador’s neck.

  “Aren’t you forgetting how Jerus controls you?” Erador snapped.

  Dethil narrowed his gaze but didn’t respond and walked next to Miraline. “What did he do to you?”

  “He used crystals to control me.” Miraline frowned. “He did it to my mother too.”

  Dethil cursed. “That’s fucked up.”

  Erador moved around her father. Martin stared out the window blankly, like he was lost. Droll dribbled from the corner of his mouth. This man’s soulless presence made Erador’s skin tingle.

  If this is what his father did to Martin, he couldn’t blame the witches for wanting them dead. Even in this dead-like state, Martin was making an impact and he was still affecting Miraline. Would his father do the same to him when he was gone?

  “Sometimes I’m afraid he’ll come back,” Miraline said.

  “He’s not going to.” Erador turned to Miraline. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  Miraline swallowed. “When I heard what happened to my father, I was the happiest I’d been, but I realized everything he’d done to my mother and I... is still here. It didn't matter what I told the coven. They never believed he was cruel. The coven labeled me a crystal addict and forced me from my home.”

  “Then you came here?” Erador said.

  She nodded. “After I was released from New Akthelia’s prison, I wandered to that village I said I was born. That’s when I knew I needed to stop using. I wasn't going to let my father continue to control me.”

  “I’m sorry, Miraline.” Erador frowned. “And I’m sorry you felt you couldn't tell me.”

  Miraline raised her shoulders. “Now you know. I’m a failure. I never studied… I didn’t know how to read or write well when I came to Lucrethia. I can’t use crystals the way they’re supposed to be used. I never was a witch and I don’t…” She turned away. “I don’t know how to love anyone.”

  “Despite what you went through you’ve shown love to me, to others, and even care for insects.” He smiled and moved to her. “You cried over stepping on a spider. Your father might have taken away opportunities, and relationships, but he hasn’t taken your kind soul away.”

  “Erador’s right,” Dethil said. “You were protesting to find a way to help people in need.”

  Heat crawled up Erador’s neck to his cheeks from how he had shamed her for it.

  “It’s nice that you noticed.” Miraline smiled. “If it weren’t for Judgment accepting me, I wouldn’t have had a place to heal. In a way, he freed me from my father, or I might’ve been dead by now like my mum.”

  “We might all be, if we don’t figure out who’s killing us,” Erador said.

  The door opened and footsteps shuffled into the room. Erador froze when he realized who it was. Eli dropped the wild flowers he was carrying as his lips moved but no words came out. His white mustache and kind eyes were the same but his stripped shirt with paint stains was replaced with a fresh white one as if he’d forgotten where he came from. Erador should’ve been relieved he was alive, but the blood rushed to his ears and he wanted to scream.

  “Eli?” Dethil said. “You’re alive?”