Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Couldn’t Speak
Arthur moved before the gunshot finished echoing.
He caught Kora around the waist and dragged her behind the cathedral door.
Stone exploded beside them.
Guests screamed.
Wyatt fired once.
The attacker disappeared behind a parked car.
Arthur didn’t chase him.
For the first time in his life, he didn’t care who was shooting.
He cared only about the woman trembling against his chest.
“Kora.”
She stared at him.
Her fingers touched his coat as though she needed proof he was real.
Then she pushed away.
Arthur froze.
Fear filled her face.
Not fear of the shooter.
Fear of him.
That hurt more than the bullet could have.
“Kora, it’s me.”
She touched the scar across her throat and shook her head.
“I know you can’t speak.”
Another shake.
She pointed into the cathedral.
At Beatrice.
Then Conrad.
Her entire body began trembling.
Arthur understood.
“You're afraid of them.”
Kora nodded.
Conrad shouted from the altar, “That woman is unstable!”
Arthur turned.
The cathedral seemed to shrink around the look on his face.
Conrad continued.
“She was found wandering the lower district. She has no identification. She claims things that aren't true.”
Kora reached desperately for Arthur’s sleeve.
He looked down.
She traced letters against his palm.
R.
U.
N.
Arthur stared at her.
“From Conrad?”
She shook her head.
Then pointed toward—
Wyatt.
Arthur’s oldest friend.
The man who had stood beside him at Kora’s funeral.
The man who had spent five years helping him survive her death.
Wyatt lowered his weapon.
His face went blank.
Arthur slowly rose.
“Wyatt?”
Kora grabbed him harder.
Wyatt whispered, “Arthur, don't.”
Two words.
They changed everything.
Arthur positioned himself in front of Kora.
“What did you do?”
“Not here.”
“You have three seconds.”
Wyatt looked toward Conrad.
Conrad looked back.
Arthur saw it.
Recognition.
Not friendship.
History.
Wyatt said, “If you want her alive, get her out of this building.”
A second shot shattered a stained-glass window.
People screamed again.
This one came from outside.
Then another struck the altar.
Arthur’s security men surrounded him.
Wyatt shouted, “West crypt!”
Arthur lifted Kora into his arms.
She resisted for half a second.
Then buried her face against his chest.
He carried her through a side passage while Wyatt and six guards followed.
Behind them, Saint Aurelia erupted into chaos.
They descended beneath the cathedral.
Kora weighed almost nothing.
That frightened Arthur.
The woman he remembered had been healthy, stubborn, alive in every possible sense.
This Kora had scars around both wrists.
Her fingernails were broken.
There was an old burn near her collarbone.
Someone had not merely hidden her.
Someone had kept her.
Arthur’s grief transformed into something colder.
They reached the crypt.
Wyatt locked the door.
Arthur set Kora down.
She immediately moved away from everyone.
Arthur removed his ceremonial coat and placed it around her shoulders.
Kora stared at it.
Then at him.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric.
“You remember that coat?” Arthur asked.
A tiny nod.
He had worn it once before, at a winter charity gala.
Kora had teased him for looking like an angry prince.
Arthur almost smiled at the memory.
Almost.
Then he remembered Wyatt.
He turned.
“Explain.”
Wyatt’s face looked ten years older.
“I knew she might be alive.”
Arthur hit him.
One punch.
Wyatt crashed against the stone wall.
Nobody interfered.
“You watched me bury her.”
“I know.”
“You stood beside me.”
“I know.”
“You let me put flowers on an empty grave for five years.”
“I didn't know where she was.”
Arthur grabbed his collar.
“But you knew.”
“I suspected.”
“When?”
“The night of the fire.”
Arthur’s fist tightened.
Wyatt continued quickly.
“The blood in the car didn't match the preliminary hospital information. I asked questions. Then the lab technician disappeared.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I found evidence someone inside your organization was involved.”
Arthur released him.
That was worse.
“Who?”
“I never proved it.”
Kora suddenly made a sound.
Not a word.
A broken breath.
She had found paper on an old prayer table.
Her hand moved rapidly.
Arthur approached.
She wrote:
WYATT SAVED ME ONCE.
Arthur looked back at him.
Wyatt closed his eyes.
Kora continued.
THEN SOMEONE TOOK ME AGAIN.
Arthur read the words twice.
“When?”
She wrote:
FIVE YEARS AGO.
“Who?”
Her hand stopped.
She stared at Arthur.
Then wrote one name.
MILLER.
Arthur looked at Wyatt.
Wyatt looked equally confused.
“My father?”
Kora nodded.
Wyatt Miller’s father, Elias, had disappeared six years earlier.
Arthur had believed him dead.
Another ghost.
Arthur laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“How many dead people are walking around my city?”
Kora wrote again.
NOT DEAD.
“Where is Elias?”
She hesitated.
Then wrote:
PIER 17.
Arthur’s blood cooled.
Pier Seventeen belonged to the Pendleton family.
It had for twenty-eight years.
Only three people had unrestricted access.
Arthur.
Wyatt.
And Arthur’s uncle, Silas Pendleton.
A man Arthur had trusted since childhood.
Above them came footsteps.
Someone was entering the crypt passage.
Wyatt raised his gun.
Arthur moved in front of Kora.
The footsteps stopped outside the locked door.
Three knocks sounded.
Not Kora’s pattern.
One.
One.
Two.
Arthur’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Kora sleeping in a narrow concrete room.
The timestamp was from three nights earlier.
Underneath were six words.
YOU FOUND HER. NOW FIND THE BODY.
Arthur stared at the screen.
A second photograph arrived.
It showed the cemetery.
Kora’s grave.
The coffin was sitting beside an open hole.
Its lid had been removed.
May you like
Inside lay a skeleton wearing Kora’s necklace.
And beneath the photograph was a name Arthur had not heard since childhood...
