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Draco straightens, his fingers slowly trailing away from my face as he turns to Mrs. Jenkins. A charming smile spreads across his lips, but it’s fake, and anyone who knows him will see it.

“Just making sure Mercy’s taken care of,” he replies smoothly. “She seemed a little distressed this morning, and I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

Biting down on my shivering lower lip, I reach out and snatch the paper bag from her hand, a little harder than I had meant to.

“Th-thank you,” I whisper, flashing her a tight smile. “I need to go.”

I flip around, clutching my coat tight around my chest as I hurry to the door. I barely place my hand on it when I hear Draco’s malicious drawl behind me.

“Looks like Little Miss Prim and Proper isn’t so proper now, is she?”

I can feel the heat crawling up my neck, sliding up my cheeks and disappearing into my hairline.

I turn and glare at him.

He’s grinning wildly, and it sends my heart rocketing down into the pit of my stomach.

“Are you a whore, Mercy?” he whispers, following after me. He’s so tall. He closes the distance between us in no time, and then he’s towering over me, bearing down on me like a shadow. “Or are you going to commit another sin and claim immaculate conception? We all know how babies are made, baby girl.”

I can’t think.

I can’t breathe.

I slip around him, push through the door and hurry out onto the street.

* * *

I slam the door behind me, my heart racing as the echo of Draco’s laughter lingers in my head. The paper bag crumples against the counter when I toss it, slamming against the fruit bowl and knocking it sideways. An apple rolls to the floor with a soft thud, and I come to a stop, staring at it.

Apples are a symbol of sin, a symbol of Adam and Eve and their fall from the garden.

This was a sign.

This was God speaking to me.

I kick off my shoes, and they thud against the hardwood, making me jump. Twisting around, I hurry down the narrowhallway toward my bedroom. Each step feels heavy, weighed down.

I can feel the panic.

The familiar sight of my sanctuary greets me—a small room decorated with soft colors and crosses that have always brought me comfort. But today, they feel distant, almost mocking. I race to the bedside table, nearly knocking over the lamp in my hurry. My breath is quick, shallow; I need peace, something to drown out the thoughts of him, the way he leaned in so close that I could smell the hint of smoke and the tang of blood.

I needed to wash away his sin.

I push aside the clutter—the books, the rosary beads—and search for something tangible, something to anchor me in this chaos. My fingers graze the smooth surface of my Bible, its pages worn and frayed. Clutching it to my chest, I screw my eyes closed.

“Please, God,” I whisper, my voice shaking and raw. “Help me understand.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I bow my head. Darkness lingers at the edges of my mind, filled with memories of Draco’s eyes—those deep brown pools that seem to pin me down, like I’m a butterfly, and his eyes are collectors pins, nailing me down to be hung on display.

“Please, Lord,” I plead again. “Just give me guidance.”

As I kneel there, the shadows stretch around me, whispering doubts that claw at my thoughts.

I draw in a shaky breath and slowly open my eyes, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the small room. My gaze lifts, landing on the crucifix that hangs above me—a stark silhouette against the wall. For a moment, the sight pulls me from the whirlwind of chaos and uncertainty, wrapping me in a fragile cocoon of comfort.

“Help me,” I whisper, the words escaping my lips. They hang in the air around me, trembling with sincerity.

But there is nothing. No answer.