Lucia wiped the sweat from her forehead. Ever since leaving the infirmary that morning, she'd been drenched—though she knew it wasn’t sickness. Not exactly.

  “If you need more time to recover—”

  “No. No, I’m completely fine, Sister Cathy. It’s the first day of training. I should be here.”

  She had already said some version of that three times that morning. The courtyard's sandy grounds scorched through their thick tunics as nuns bustled past, grabbing the special first-day breakfast laid out for the new recruits.

  “There’s a rumor the brothers might arrive earlier than expected,” Cathy said, glancing around.

  Lucia didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were on V, seated at the far end of the breakfast bench, along with the other recruits, shoveling down her food like it was her last meal. She even went for seconds. Lucia should’ve stopped her, should have enforced the rule. But a part of her let it slide.

  “Earlier than expected?” Lucia asked, finally turning to Cathy. “Are they joining our training sessions, then? Combining the lot?”

  “I haven’t heard anything official, at least not from Sister Teresa,” Cathy said. “That reminds me, I haven’t seen Sister Teresa since we picked you up from the ambulance. Gosh, that was only two days ago, wasn’t it?”

  It felt longer. Time had begun to warp.

  “Excuuuse me!”

  V’s voice cut through the courtyard. Lucia’s head snapped toward her at once.

  “Where can I relieve myself?”

  V wasn’t just asking—she was suddenly sitting on top of the breakfast table, legs dangling, recruits around her frozen in alarm. Cathy gasped. Lucia stormed over, grabbed V by the tunic, and yanked her off the table, back onto the bench.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed, eyes darting for signs of Sister Irene or her henchwomen.

  “What? I just wanted to know where to take a piss.” V smirked, brushing her veil aside.

  “You’ll get your chance. Before the tour.”

  Lucia hissed, partly controlled. She knew what V was trying to do. It was all too familiar. And before V could pull anything further Lucia quickly moved away and back to Sister Cathy. She was becoming irritated already and it was barely morning.

  The tour began on time. The recruits huddled at the North courtyard as Cathy led them through a solemn hymn, her voice stretching slightly off-pitch. V returned from the bathroom and visibly cringed at the singing. The group soon began walking, passing under a carved arch lined with analog symbols toward their first stop: the cathedral.

  Lucia trailed behind. Everyone had a partner except V, who floated at the back alone. After a pause, Lucia exhaled and stepped in beside her.

  V smirked.

  “What?” Lucia blurted, catching V’s reaction from the corner of her eye.

  “You’ve…grown,” V said, surprising her.

  Lucia instinctively glanced around, making sure no one had heard V. “Obviously, what did you expect?”

  “No—I mean, you’re taller than me now.”

  Lucia winced. “You were never the tall one.”

  “Yes, I was!”

  Several recruits turned to look. Lucia looked away, pretending not to know her. V just smiled prettily until they shrugged it off.

  “Keep it down,” Lucia muttered.

  But V kept going. “I'm wildly curious, why 'Lucia'? Of all the names you could have chosen when you came here?”

  “Coming from someone who named themselves ‘V’?”

  “I told you—V is for Vengeance. Violence. Victory.”

  V’s hands flailed. Lucia pushed them down, trying not to look stranger than it already was.

  “That’s enough. You don’t get to talk anymore.”

  “Why? Afraid they’ll figure it out? That I’m your sister?”

  Lucia glared, but V only chuckled. “If you really didn’t want them to know, maybe you shouldn’t have walked beside me. A bit of a giveaway, isn’t it?”

  Lucia physically recoiled, her body tensing. She marched to the front of the group, steam practically rising from her shoulders. She should have just stayed back like she originally planned to, away from V.

  Soon they approached their first stop. The cathedral loomed with its polished marble floors and stained glass windows. The third-oldest building in the convent, yet somehow the cleanest. Once inside, Cathy led another hymn and the recruits followed along with varying degrees of devotion, and some confusion at the sudden repetition.

  Lucia did not sing. She watched V. Her sister was unusually quiet, scanning the cathedral methodically, eyes tracing doorways, windows, and support columns like someone memorizing an escape route.

  What is she doing? Lucia thought.

  V was calmer, composed, and sharp.

  This sudden turn in V’s behavior only continued. It amplified once the tour moved to west of the cathedral, to the convent kitchen, Lucia’s usual post.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The nuns walked through steaming halls with food being prepped for lunch and dinner, out into the field. Rows of vegetables under domed greenhouses, sprinklers hissing in rhythm. A stop at the root cellar. The drying barn. The well, where recruits lined up to pull water by rope like it was a party trick.

  All smiles, except V.

  V didn’t care about crops or quaint water tricks. Her eyes were locked on the wall. That massive, looming barrier separating them from the outside world. The metal behemoth separating the mega cluster from the analog world within. Every few steps, V would pause, glance up at the sun's position, then back to the wall. She'd tap her fingers against her thigh in a pattern. Measuring. Calculating. Mapping.

  By the time the tour ended, and the recruits were dismissed to prepare for dinner, Lucia returned to her room to find V standing by the window, looking out, arms crossed.

  “You’re not getting dressed?” Lucia asked, locking the door behind her, then checking it twice more. Habit.

  “I will. Soon.”

  Lucia walked closer. “What are you looking at?”

  No response. V’s pupils flicked back and forth, as if scanning something only she could see.

  “Hello?”

  V finally spoke, annoyed. “I thought you didn’t want me making a scene. That’s what I’m doing.”

  She turned to her mattress and picked up her tunic, struggled with it—head going through both armholes. Lucia sighed then helped.

  “You’re not yourself,” Lucia said, quietly.

  It took a moment but V finally met her gaze. A pause before asking, “Do you believe it?”

  “Believe what?” Lucia was confused.

  “This faith. The analog faith.”

  Lucia hesitated.

  “Of course,” she said, a little too loudly. “It’s helped so many. After the collapse of the old world—”

  “I’m not asking about history. I’m asking if you believe it? ” V stepped closer. “Do you truly believe in going analog? No digital pulse, no virtual horizons, no access to the ever evolving world outside?”

  Lucia felt a sudden knot twist in her chest.

  “Yes,” she said. Too forcefully.

  V nodded slowly, eyes drifting back to the wall.

  “And you’re okay with that? With being trapped?”

  The word stung.

  Trapped wasn’t what she felt ten years ago, crying herself to sleep. It wasn’t how she felt when Irene began picking on her one random Tuesday. It wasn’t even a thought that crossed her mind when she bowed benevolently beside the Mother Superior, fearful she would step out of line and anger the woman. But now… the word hung in the air like smoke.

  “You have the choice to leave if this life scares you.” Lucia spoke up, partly in defense.

  “Is that why you stay? Because life out there is…scarier?”

  Lucia thought for a moment. Then softly replied, “Maybe.”

  The word lingered in silence. Lucia felt her certainty, the foundation she'd built over ten years, shift beneath her feet. She'd spent so long convincing herself the walls protected rather than imprisoned. That the rules saved rather than stifled. One "maybe" and cracks appeared in everything.

  “Aren’t you curious? About where I’ve been? All this time while you were in here?”

  Lucia's hands trembled slightly. She clasped them together, squeezing until her knuckles whitened. She turned away, back towards the door, unable to meet V's gaze. She knew where this conversation was heading and she no longer wanted to be a part of it.

  “Curiosity isn’t encouraged,” she said. “We’re taught to believe what’s in front of us…”

  She opened the door. “...If you plan to keep being curious… maybe you should pick your path soon. Before it’s too late.”

  She walked away, not expecting it to hurt. But it did.

  Dinner that evening was exhausting. Lucia watched as V picked at her food, looking more contemplative than bored. Lucia couldn’t read her anymore. But she sensed something had shifted.

  When Lucia returned to her room later that night, V was already asleep, curled beneath the thin blanket, mattress shoved to the corner of the wall. Lucia had purposefully delayed returning, visiting Clarence to catch up on the latest drama—Irene vs. the kitchen head nun. She didn’t want to admit she had been avoiding V.

  But now, staring at her sister sleeping, something stirred.

  For the first time in years, she felt—strangely—home.

  *

  Lucia's eyes fluttered open to gray dawn light.

  For a moment, everything was still. Her limbs rested. Her thoughts, quiet. A strange peace had followed her from her dreams. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this calm.

  She turned instinctively to the side. A smile formed across her lips.

  Yet as she processed what she was seeing, her smile dropped in a flash. V’s mattress was empty.

  Lucia shot upright at once, her thin blanket tangling around her legs. A draft rolling in through the cracked window, rustling the hem of her nightgown like some warning sign.

  No. No, no, no.

  She checked the door. It was open. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Did she actually…leave?

  Lucia didn’t stop to think. She grabbed her coat, threw it over her shoulders, and ran. The cold floorboards slapped beneath her feet as she barreled down the stairs, skipping the last few in a near-stumble. Her pulse was everywhere at once.

  She sprinted across the courtyard, cutting south toward the only building that led to the convent gates.

  And then—just before she reached the door—movement.

  Someone turned the corner up ahead.

  Lucia halted, ducked into the shadow of the building and peeked.

  It was her.

  V.

  Not escaping. Not even sneaking.

  Jogging.

  Lucia blinked.

  Jogging?

  In wrinkled pants, her shirt untucked, veil slipping sideways every few strides.

  Lucia scanned the yard. No other nuns in sight. Yet. If Irene caught this, there’d be a full hearing at the analog court before breakfast.

  She was about to lunge forward and drag V inside when another figure emerged from the opposite hallway.

  Tall. Brisk. Carrying folders.

  Lucia stopped breathing.

  It was a man. A Brother. Of the Faith.

  He strode with purpose, head buried in paperwork, as if unaware he was about to be collateral damage.

  V didn’t see him.

  He didn’t see her.

  Until—

  Smack.

  Not a bump. A full-body, spiritual-impact kind of crash. Folders flew like startled birds. V slammed into the wall. The Brother bounced back with a grunt, robes flapping in dismay. Lucia winced so hard she thought her neck might lock.

  The man recovered first. His collar—deep violet embroidery. High rank. Probably important. Definitely pissed.

  He stared at V, face twisted in confusion, then outrage. His nostrils flared as he pointed at her like he was about to cast judgment on her soul.

  And V? Well, V was quicker. She opened her mouth and spat out words Lucia wouldn’t dream of ever uttering.

  “What the actual fuck? Watch where you're going, you sanctimonious prick!”

  Lucia's stomach plummeted. Ten years of careful obedience, of invisible existence, undone in two words. She could already see Sister Irene's triumphant face, hear Teresa's disappointed sigh. Whatever V was planning, it had just collided with reality. And Lucia would be caught in the explosion of it all.

  Perfect.