Guadalupe’s authorization.

Nothing.

Do you understand me?” She had expected Soledad to bristle — the infirmarian was proud of her herbs and her small authority.

Instead, Soledad looked up, and what was in her face was not offense at all.

It was terror.

Naked, trembling terror, quickly hidden, but not quickly enough.

Inmaculada had known this woman for fifteen years and had never once seen that expression on her.

She said nothing.