My scream comes from somewhere deep, a well of grief that I didn’t know existed. It explodes from inside me in shades of agony as I crumple to my knees. The other Maidens gasp and some wail, but I can’t focus on anything except the blood. A river of it pouring onto Adam’s hands and the ground as Sarah’s soul flies free from her battered body.

The fire intensifies, the tornado of sparks and flames widening as the Prophet faces the inferno with arms raised.

Adam kneels beside Sarah and catches her before she slumps to the ground. He holds her in his arms like a broken doll. He bows his head, his shoulders hunched. I can’t blink, can’t do anything except stare at the gore, at the man who murdered my friend right in front of me. Everything is cold. Every ounce of heat evaporates as the fire—a raging inferno only moments ago—lessens into nothing more than a smoldering heap.

Huge gasping sobs wrack my body, and I can’t begin to deal with the enormity of the emotions that rip and tear through my heart. Adam doesn’t move as the Prophet dips his hands in Sarah’s blood and paints Adam’s face with streaks of crimson. Then the Prophet does the same to his own cheeks, drawing his cruelty in the deepest shades of red.

Georgia. Was it Adam who did the same to her? I can see her instead of Sarah, my beautiful sister limp in Adam’s strong arms, her blood a river.

Something drapes over my shoulders, and I’m scooped off the floor. Evan holds me to his chest, his jacket wrapped around me.

“Let me go.” I’m paralyzed. So much inside me died right along with Sarah.

“I think you’re safer here.” He tightens his grip.

I turn back to Adam, to the innocent blood that saturates his clothes, his skin, his soul. A tremor shakes me, my teeth chattering. “H-he killed her.”

The Prophet approaches, a rapturous look on his bloody face. “The faithful will be rewarded. All of you.” He waves to the orgy going on behind me. “The Lord shines on us as his chosen, and each of us will reap the benefits.” He turns his gaze to me. “And what do we have here?”

Grace scampers to Evan’s side. “I told him to stop taking liberties with Delilah, but he—”

The Prophet waves a dismissive hand. “It’s all right, as long as she’s still intact?” He raises his eyebrows in question.

Grace nods.

“Very good.” He ignores me and addresses Evan. “Of course, you can’t take her with you. She belongs to me.”

“I understand.” Evan doesn’t loosen his grip. “But I’d like to discuss her future with you as soon as possible.”

The Prophet smiles, his evil horrible to behold. “We’ll turn to business after the solstice is over. Until then, enjoy the finest the Chapel has to offer. But it’s past my pure Maidens’ bedtimes.” He turns and waves one of the Protectors over. “Bring them.”

The Protector hurries toward one of the far tents as my gaze strays back to Adam. He hasn’t moved. My heart breaks and vibrates with fury all at once, and I can’t decide if I want to kill him or heal him.

“I suppose this is goodnight then.” Evan sighs and sets me on my feet.

My knees wobble, and black spots float across my vision, but I stay upright. I can’t look at him. How can any human see something so horrible and not react? I’m surrounded by devils, and Evan is no different.

I shrug off his jacket.

“Keep it.” He snugs it back around me. The scent of his cologne makes my stomach twist in an even tighter knot.

“I’m not yours.” I finally look him in the eye.

He smiles ruefully, his blue eyes glinting. “Not yet.”

“Girls!” Grace’s shout shakes me out of the nightmare, but somehow also reinforces it. “Back to the bus.”

I wobble on my heels but fall in line, shoving off Evan’s jacket the moment I’m out of his grasp. Eve weeps in front of me, her bare shoulders shaking as we’re led from the pavilion. Two Protectors grab Adam and yank him away from Sarah. Her lifeless body falls to the cold ground, and several of the Maidens scream.

A line of women—ones I’ve never seen before—and children walk in a line toward Sarah’s body, the Prophet leading them. The women are in long dresses, their hair in tight buns. The children wear white jumpers, the same ones I’ve seen every Sunday. They all kneel, and the Prophet uses Sarah’s blood to draw a cross on each of their foreheads.

They disappear from view as I’m herded down the empty road toward the white bus, the frigid air chilling my bare skin. Adam is gone, dragged away. Will I ever see him again? The question lingers, and I can’t grasp the threads of our connection—not when I can see him holding Georgia the same way, her blood on his hands.

Back on the bus, we retrieve our robes. I wrap mine around me, not caring about the lamb’s blood marring the fabric. I’m in a numb daze, too many feelings at war inside me, and a glaze of disbelief coating the top. Other than some sniffles, the ride is silent and somber, not even Grace uttering a word. I cry silently, the tears never-ending, the pain so dire that my eyes can’t contain the grief.

We file into the Cloister and return to our rooms. I stare at Sarah’s closed door across the hall. She’ll never come back. The thought is as obvious as it is agonizing.

The pipes creak as the Maidens shower to wash off the blood. As if what happened tonight is something that could ever flow away down the drain. I’m still rooted in the hallway, staring at Sarah’s door when Chastity hurries over to me. Another Spinner is in the hall, but she looks away as Chastity shuffles me into my room and closes the door.

“Were you there?” I let her strip the dirty robe off me.

“I’d already left. But I heard.” She kneels and unstraps my heels, sliding them off one at a time, then guides me toward the bathroom and turns on the shower. “Get in.”

I peel off the thong and step into the spray, my muscles on autopilot. “He killed her.” The water hits my face and mingles with the tears. “Adam did it.”

“I know.” She soaps up a washcloth and washes my face first, then the rest of me.

“Did he do it. Before? To Georgia?” I ask the question that has terrified me since the first day I met him. “Was it him?”

She turns me so the spray hits my back. “No. At least I don’t think so.” Her voice is barely audible over the hiss of the water. “The Prophet has never done this before. At least, not openly. He sacrifices animals every year. It’s part of his ritual to the Father of Fire. But he’s never gone this far. Not even Grace knew what he had planned.”

“Adam cut her throat.” The words make it too real, and I sink to my knees. Chastity drops to the floor beside the tub and pushes the wet hair out of my face.

“It’s going to be all right.”

“How?” I look at her with the most honesty I’ve shown to anyone since I’ve been at the Cloister. “How can any of this ever be all right?”

Her eyes water. “I don’t know. But it will be. We’ll make it all right. You, me, and some of the others.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s get you dry.” She turns off the faucet and wraps me in a towel, then walks me to the bed.

“She had the same markings,” I whisper. “The same as Georgia’s body.”

“They’re from the Prophet’s book.”

“Book?”

“He has a book that he believes was dictated to him by the Father of Fire. I’ve never seen it. But my Protector told me about it when I was a Maiden. He said it has all sorts of symbols and crazy writing in it, and the Prophet believes it’s a prophecy of the coming war between his people and the rest of the world.” She glances at the door. “I have to go. I’ve used up all my favors with Spinner Bethlehem to get this time with you.”

“If the Prophet is the only one with access to the book, then he must have been the one who ordered Georgia’s death.” I grab Chastity’s hand. “Can you promise me it wasn’t Adam? If he killed Georgia—”

“I can’t promise, but I have reason to believe it was someone else.” She pulls her hand free and backs to the door.

“Who?”

“Soon.” She opens the door and slips out.

I climb into my bed, not bothering with the white dress. Curling into a ball, I can’t stop the gruesome picture show in my mind. So much blood. And in the center of it, Adam.

Sarah didn’t scream when the knife cut through her skin. My thoughts ricochet off each other. Adam cut with a sure hand, as if he’d done it before. The flames swirl at his back, urging him on. So many horrible memories pile onto each other that I suffocate beneath the weight.

Am I asleep, awake?

My skin tingles then heats until I feel as if I’m standing in front of the fire, the tornado whipping around and burning my flesh off with each twist of the flames. Fighting the towering inferno is impossible, but I hold my ground. I blister and scorch, the fire consuming me until nothing is left but singed bone and ash. When the fire relents, Adam appears through the smoke, his face covered in blood, and collects my remains as a trophy.