“Different how?”
“He actually believed the cult’s doctrine. Not the control parts—the surrender and the purity. He thought the Bloom was sacred, not a weapon. When they transformed him...” She trails off. “I thought they’d broken him completely. Turned him into just another monster.”
“Maybe they didn’t.” Circe’s voice holds a desperate kind of hope. “Maybe there’s something left of who he was. Maybe—maybe he could help us.”
I sheathe my blade. Force myself to think tactically rather than react to the adrenaline still flooding my system. A Keeper with doubts. A potential ally inside the enemy’s ranks. Either a trap designed to draw us out, or an opportunity too valuable to ignore.
“It could be a setup.” The objection comes out harsher than I intend. “The Abbot is mobilizing. The patrols are changing. And suddenly a Keeper starts asking sympathetic questions? The timing is too convenient.”
“Or the timing is exactly right.” Arwen’s gaze sharpens. Her tactical mind engaging, pushing past whatever just happened between us. “Cael sees what the Abbot is planning. Realizes it’s gone too far. Starts questioning his loyalty.”
“Or Cael is bait. Designed to make us think exactly that.”
“Both could be true.” She turns to Circe. “The questions he asked—did they feel rehearsed? Like he was saying what someone told him to say?”
Circe considers. Her forehead creases with the effort of remembering accurately. “No. He seemed... frustrated. Like he wanted answers and wasn’t getting them. He grabbed my arm when I tried to walk away. Asked me directly if I knew where you were.”
“And you said?”
“I said I didn’t know anything. That I was just a new initiate who’d gotten lost during the chapel attack.” Circe’s chin lifts slightly. “I’m not stupid. I know better than to give information to Keepers, even sympathetic ones.”
Good instincts. The girl has survived this long for a reason.
“What exactly is the Abbot mobilizing for?” I redirect the conversation toward actionable intelligence. “Doubling patrols suggests he’s expecting attack or planning one. Which is it?”
“I couldn’t tell. The Keepers I overheard were just following orders, not explaining them.” Circe hesitates. “But they mentioned the Garden. Something about preparing it for a ceremony. A big one.”
Arwen’s expression darkens. “A mass transformation. He’s planning to seed multiple initiates at once.”
“Can he do that? The concentrated Bloom?—”
“He’s been refining the process for eighty years. Making the infection faster, more efficient. Less time between exposure and full transformation.” She meets my gaze. “If he succeeds, he could double his Keeper force in a single night. Maybe triple it.”
The strategic implications crash through my assessment. More Keepers means more patrols, more defenses, less chance of a successful assault. If we wait too long, the monastery becomes impregnable.
“Then we don’t wait.” My voice comes out flat. Decisive. “We move before he finishes the ceremony. Hit the barracks first, neutralize the Keepers, then burn the Garden before he can create more.”
“And Cael?” Circe asks.
Arwen and I look at each other. The question hangs between us—trust or suspicion, opportunity or trap. Her gaze holds the same calculation I’m running.
“We find out what he wants.” She makes the decision before I can. “Approach him carefully. Test his sincerity. If he’s genuine, he could tell us exactly what the Abbot is planning. If he’s bait—” Her jaw tightens. “Then we deal with that too.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Then we’re no worse off than we are now.” She turns back to the map scratched into the floor. “Either way, we’re running out of time. The ceremony won’t wait for us to finish planning.”
I look at the crude diagram. The barracks. The Garden. The paths between them, marked with Keeper patrol routes that are already changing. We planned for a careful assault. Now we’re looking at a desperate race against the Abbot’s timeline.
“How long before the ceremony?”
“Based on the preparations Circe described?” Arwen’s expression hardens. “Tomorrow night. Maybe the night after.”
Two days. At most.
Not enough time to plan properly. Barely enough time to gather intelligence, test Cael’s loyalty, position ourselves for the assault. But too much time to do nothing while the Abbot builds an army.
“Then we start tonight.” I move toward the door, already planning routes through the monastery’s hidden passages. “Circe stays here. You and I find Cael. Learn what he knows.”
