Cathedral Glass

The cathedral loomed against the dying light like the skeleton of a forgotten god. Broken spires pierced the amber sky, and shattered stained-glass windows bled out the last rays of sun across the cracked stone plaza. Isabelle tightened her jacket against the sudden chill creeping over her skin.

Beside her, Estelle hesitated, arms wrapped around herself, staring up at the ruins. She hadn't spoken much during the drive—only growing quieter the closer they came to this place.

Isabelle could feel the tension radiating from her.

"You said you needed to tell me something," Isabelle prompted gently.

Estelle swallowed, her throat working visibly. Her voice was small when it finally came out.

"I've been threatened."

Isabelle's chest tightened. She slowed her steps, turning fully to face Estelle.

"How long?"

"A while," Estelle said, looking away, ashamed. "Since after the second woman disappeared. Notes slipped into my mailbox. No return address. No fingerprints. Always the same message."

"What message?"

Estelle's hand trembled as she pulled a crumpled paper from her coat pocket. She unfolded it carefully, as though afraid it would disintegrate under the touch.

In slanted, elegant handwriting were the words:

"Silence saves. Curiosity buries."

Isabelle stared at the note, feeling the pit of her stomach twist.

"And you never told anyone?"

Estelle laughed weakly—a sound that held no humor.

"I thought if I stayed quiet, if I didn't dig too deep, they'd leave me alone. I thought..." She broke off, shaking her head. "But then Lucie disappeared. And you started getting dragged deeper. I realized being silent wasn't protecting anyone."

Isabelle reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"You're doing the right thing now."

The words felt thin against the weight of the secrets hanging between them.

They turned back toward the cathedral, stepping carefully over chunks of fallen masonry and weeds that clawed up through the stones.

The door, once grand and ornate, now sagged crookedly on its hinges. Isabelle pushed it open with a groan of rusted metal, the sound loud in the gathering dusk.

Inside, the cathedral smelled of damp rot and old smoke. The vaulted ceiling stretched high above, skeletal rafters exposed where the fire had eaten away the roof. Multicolored shards of glass littered the floor like forgotten jewels, casting fractured light across the worn pews and cracked altar.

Somewhere, a bird called—a hollow, broken sound that echoed eerily off the stone walls.

Estelle moved cautiously, her boots crunching on the glass.

"This is where she was last seen," Isabelle said, her voice low. "Emilie Fournier. The third victim."

Estelle nodded grimly.

"She came here for some kind of private meeting. Never left."

They made their way down the central aisle, dust swirling around their feet. Isabelle felt the familiar prickle of being watched. The hairs on her arms lifted, and she caught Estelle casting anxious glances upward.

"I don't like this," Estelle whispered.

Neither did Isabelle. The cathedral seemed alive with things unseen—shadows that shifted just out of sight, breathless whispers that tickled the back of her mind.

They stopped in front of the altar. Burn marks blackened the marble base, and an iron candelabra lay twisted and broken beside it.

Estelle crouched to examine something near the base.

"Look," she murmured.

Isabelle knelt beside her. Scratched into the stone were faint carvings, almost invisible in the fading light. Letters, hastily etched—names.

Vivienne's name was there. So was Lucie's. Emilie's. Isabelle's.

And at the very bottom, in a fresher hand, Estelle's.

The realization hit like a slap of cold water.

"They've been planning this for a long time," Isabelle said, her voice shaking slightly. "Marking us. Watching us."

Estelle looked up at her, fear plain in her wide eyes.

"And now we're standing in the middle of their stage."

A sharp crack split the air.

Both women flinched as a stained-glass panel high above exploded outward, raining shards of jewel-colored glass onto the pews below. Isabelle instinctively threw her arms around Estelle, shielding her.

The sound faded into ringing silence.

And then Isabelle saw it.

High in the rafters, half-shrouded by shadows, perched a figure—completely still.

A mask covered their face: smooth porcelain painted with delicate gold filigree. The figure wore a long, dark cloak that seemed to drink in the light, blending them into the broken beams of the roof.

Their head tilted slightly, regarding the women below like a bird of prey studying its next meal.

For a long, unbearable heartbeat, they all stayed frozen.

Then the figure slowly lifted one gloved hand—and pointed, straight at Estelle.

Isabelle acted on instinct.

"Run!" she hissed, grabbing Estelle's hand and pulling her toward the side aisle.

They fled through the ruined cathedral, boots sliding on loose stones and glass. Behind them, Isabelle could hear the soft whisper of movement—too light for footsteps, too steady for the wind.

The masked figure was following.

They burst through a collapsed section of wall, emerging into the half-choked garden behind the cathedral. Twilight was dying fast, shadows stretching long and deep across the ruined grounds.

Isabelle risked a glance behind them.

Nothing.

No sound, no movement.

But she knew better than to trust the silence.

"Where's the car?" Estelle panted.

"Back around front," Isabelle said. "We'll cut through the alley."

They scrambled over toppled gravestones, Estelle stumbling once but regaining her footing. The air smelled thick of damp earth and crushed ivy.

Isabelle's heart hammered in her ears, hollow and fast, drowning out almost everything else.

Almost.

She caught the faint scrape of something hard against stone—close. Too close.

The alley was just ahead. If they could make it—

A shadow detached itself from the wall ahead.

Not the masked figure from the rafters.

Someone else.

Someone waiting.

Isabelle skidded to a halt, dragging Estelle behind her. Panic surged through her chest like fire.

The figure stepped forward slowly.

A second mask.

White. Plain. No decoration. Featureless except for a tiny crack running from the left eye to the corner of the mouth.

Estelle gasped.

The masked figure raised something—gleaming in the low light.

A knife.

Isabelle's mind raced.

Two options: forward and fight—or back and pray they could outpace whatever nightmare waited behind them.

Behind her, the ruined cathedral loomed, its broken windows staring down like blind, unblinking eyes.

Ahead, death waited.

Isabelle tightened her grip on Estelle's hand.

They ran back toward the cathedral.

Glass crunched under their feet. The masked figure from the rafters was no longer perched in the beams.

They had entered the labyrinth now.

And there would be no easy way out.

To be continued...