Page 96 of The Shadow Sanctum

Antibiotics.

For a heartbeat, I can’t move. The sight of him rosy-cheeked, vibrant, and alive roots me to the stone floor. My father, who preached that Western medicine was poison, that faith alone sustained the Sanctum. My father, who let children choke on fever while he slipped pills down his own throat.

His gaze lifts as if he feels my rage before he hears me. Those eyes pin me the way they always have, cold steel threaded with a smile.

“Daughter,” he says smoothly, like I’ve walked in to bless him, not expose him. His spoon scrapes the bowl. “You look tired.”

The words land like a backhand. Tired. Not furious. Not betrayed. Just… tired.

Raven shifts beside him. Her lashes dip low. “Luna,” she murmurs, her tone careful, almost sympathetic. “We weren’t expecting you.”

I force myself forward and keep each step controlled, my boots muted by carpet. I keep my eyes on Father. “You’re looking well.”

He dabs his mouth with a cloth, precise, elegant, as though we’re at supper and not on the brink of collapse. “I’m flattered.”

“Where’d your cough go, Father?”

He raises a brow and stands—because he’s incapable of being even an inch beneath me. He leans against the table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Cough?”

I clench my fists until my nails bite crescent moons into my palms. I stare but say nothing. Words would be wasted, and I abhor waste.

"Well," he clears his throat and addresses Raven. “I suppose I should go. The people will be anxious to hear what we have to say.”

He knocks on the wood, then faces me.

For the smallest fraction of a second, his smile flickers. It hardens into something sharper, crueler. His love for his favorite daughter turned to hate.

And it makes my stomach knot. Even while feeling the same.

Raven touches his sleeve gently. “I’ll be there shortly.”

He studies her face, then mine. His silence is weighted enough to crush the air from my lungs. At last, he brushes past me, close enough that his shoulder nearly grazes mine.

“You look pale,” he murmurs as he passes. “Careful… I’d hate for you to catch something.”

With that, he leaves. His steps echo in the distance while my attention turns to Raven.

She doesn’t look at me right away. Her gaze follows the door. Her shoulders are rigid, as though his shadow still hangs over us. Only when the silence stretches too long does she turn, and there’s apology etched in every line of her face.

“What’s he talking about?” My voice is sharper than I intend.

Her lips part, then press together, like she wants to say something but knows better. She glances at the bowl Aurelius left behind, steam still curling, and her shoulders sag. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

My fingers curl around the top of Father’s chair and guide it back before sitting. Instead of elaborating, I just stare.

Swallowing, she sits up straight and cups her hands tight so they won’t fidget. “You’ll know soon enough.”

“Raven.”

Finally, she looks at me. But her eyes aren’t as cold as mine. She can’t hide herself the way I can.

Still, obviously she’s my replacement. Our father’s new confidant.

I wonder if it’ll be her name he plans to stamp across his crimes next.

“We’re sisters.” My arm digs into the table as I angle toward her. “We’re friends.”

“Friends.” She puffs out a humorless laugh. “Is that what we are?”